Fire
by Simon920
Summary: Brian is injured in a fire at the loft. This is a multi chapter story which is posted in one shot. Bear with me, that's the way it was saved on my hard drive. Sorry, guys.


Title: Fire

Author: Simon

Pairing: Justin/Brian, natch

Rating: PG-13 language

Summary: A fire destroys the loft

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Yes

Feedback: Hell, yes. 

**Fire**

Justin was working the early shift at the diner, topping the saltshakers and refilling the napkin holders when he first heard. It was Vic who came looking for him to break the news around six thirty Saturday morning.

"We tried to call you last night, but I guess that your phone was out of order." The fucking phone bill, Ethan had meant to pay it. He just kept forgetting.

"Why? Has something happened?" No, Vic always came to see him at the diner at dawn. Idiot.

"There was a fire at Brian's loft."

"A fire?" He repeated what Vic had just told him, trying to understand what the words meant. "A bad fire?" No, it was out in five minutes, that's why they want you to know about it at six fucking thirty.

"The place is totaled, the whole building was destroyed. Just the walls are standing."

"...Brian? Was he there?"

Vic gave him a short nod. "They managed to get him out, but he was unconscious from the smoke and—he was hurt. He's in the hospital."

"But I just saw him last night around two, he was at Woody's with the guys and he was laughing. He was fine and...oh, fuck. Was he smoking in bed? I kept at him not to do that and he did it anyway...was that what caused it?"

He shook his head. "They think it was an electrical fire down in the basement. Some kind of short or something. He was lucky, not all the tenants got out. The people on the third floor didn't make it." Vic was being calm, that was probably why they sent him to deliver the message, and they knew that he'd be calm. "He's asking for you. Deb asked me to bring you over."

"He's hurt?" Justin was panicking; he could feel the redness in his thoughts and knew that he wouldn't be thinking clearly right now. Yes, he was in the hospital and Vic said something about smoke inhalation and burns. Of course he was hurt. Vic wouldn't be here if he wasn't hurt. Fuck. Damnit.

Vic took his jacket from the hook by the kitchen door. "Come on, I'll drive you."

The ten-minute drive to the hospital took ten days while every thought and memory that Justin could drag up about the last two years flipped through his mind. The first night on Liberty Avenue, the prom, Gus' birth, the dozens—hundreds of times they had made love, the shower, dancing at Babylon and in the street at Pride, dinners with the family, fighting with his father, the arguments, Ethan, Rage.

Fuck.

Brian was hurt and was asking for him.

Fuck.

He should call Ethan.

He'd do that when he knew something.

Fuck. Brian was hurt.

Walking into the familiar waiting room he saw the usual suspects gathered in the usual positions of waiting—standing around, leaning against the walls, sitting uncomfortably on the hard plastic chairs. Michael hovering between tears and anger, Deb worried and trying to hold the others together, Ted and Emmett pressed together, Linds alone, probably leaving Gus with Mel.

"Any word?"

"No real change, he's still asking for you, Justin." He nodded.

"Where is he? Which room?"

A nurse was beside him. "Are you Justin?"

"Come with me, please. He's tired and weak right now and he might not make too much sense because of the pain killers, but he wants to see you."

They stopped outside of a room, Justin pausing. "Is he badly burned?" He was picturing the nightmare images he'd seen in movies and on TV, the people with scars and no skin and just holes where features used to be. God, Brian couldn't end up like that.

"He looks pretty good. He was lucky. Most of the damage was from the smoke and his lungs took the brunt of the damage—and the shoulder, of course."

"But...No one told me anything about his shoulder—what was..."

"It was pretty badly broken. I think they said that a ceiling beam or something fell and pinned him onto the bed. That was why they had such trouble getting him out; I gathered that it was a big one that landed on him. If the bed hadn't absorbed a lot of the weight, he probably wouldn't have made it. He's lucky it didn't land on his head." She smiled at that, as if she somehow found some humor in it. He thought that she must see a lot of stuff, working here.

"How badly is he hurt, though? Will he recover?"

"Well, like I said, his lungs are damaged and he has a pretty badly crushed shoulder, but the burns aren't too bad considering that they were localized to just his chest and arm. It's too soon to know about whether he'll need grafts or not, but he's a tough character. It looks like he'll handle what he has to and he seems to have a lot of support."

He still hesitated. "Look, I don't know what to..."

"Are you his boyfriend?" She was matter of fact about it.

"...I used to be, but lately I've been with another..."

She fixed him with a look that would have rivaled any that Brian was capable of. "Fine. Now you listen to me. He's hurt and he's in pain and by all rights he should be dead. The only thing he wants right now is to see you. Now you go in there and hold his hand if that's what he wants and if you say anything to upset him I'll take it out of your ass, do you understand me?" Nodding, he started away from her when she caught his arm. "Oh, and with his lungs in the shape they're in right now, he won't be doing much talking, so you talk for him, OK?"

Taking a breath, he walked through the door.

The room was in semi darkness and there was a man in the next bed, the one closest to the window. The privacy curtain was drawn around the other guy so all Justin could see were his feet. He was probably sleeping. There was a slight smell of smoke. Brian was in an oxygen tent; his left arm was heavily bandaged. There was an IV running into his right hand. He was partially upright on pillows and was breathing through his slightly opened mouth. Justin could hear every breath as it wheezed in and out. There were some burns on his neck and chin on the left side, probably from the hot beam, but other than that his features were fine. The nurse was right, he had been lucky as far as that went.

He realized that he released the breath that he had been holding—he'd been afraid that there would be damage to his face. That would have killed Brian. His mind flashed to that old Mel Gibson movie—"The Man Without a Face" or something like that, the one where Mel has some kind of accident that turns his face into hamburger so he becomes a recluse...until the faith of a pure hearted boy saves him from himself, of course. OK, so Brian wouldn't have to play out that scenario. Good, he would have sucked at that.

"Brian? Can you hear me?" He spoke quietly, not knowing if he was still awake and not wanting to bother the guy in the other bed.

After a moment Justin saw the eyes open. "Bri?"

Brian's eyes slowly focused on him. "It's me, Justin." Brian just looked at him, whether he knew who was there or not was anyone's guess. Justin moved around the bed to Brian's right side, the one less damaged. He carefully put his hand on Brian's wrist avoiding the IV, noticing that the shell bracelet was gone, replaced by a plastic hospital ID..

"They said that you were asking for me. I'm glad that you did. I would have come anyway, but I'm glad..." He stopped, not knowing what to say. "You've been there for me all those times, after the bashing, when I needed a place to stay, when I needed money for school. I want to pay you back. I owe you big time." He tried to give his smile, but it wasn't working too well right now. He kept up his stream of babble, not noticing the look on Brian's face—either not noticing or just assuming that the pain there was caused by his injuries. "In a way I'm glad that I can clear the slate a little after all the help you've given me. Maybe I can repay some of what you did for me all. I owe you a major payback and you know how I am about paying off my debts."

Brian looked at him for a long minute then shook his head 'no' slightly, just enough to read, and he looked more hurt than even his injuries would account for. He whispered a single word, "Go." It was so soft as to be almost inaudible.

"No, I'm staying here with you, I'm not going to leave you. You stayed for me."

Brian's expression, beyond the pain was now one of sadness. And he repeated the whispered order, "Go."

"No."

Closing his eyes and moving his wrist away from Justin's hand, Brian shut him out. He wouldn't respond to anything Justin said, he had shut down. With no alternative, the young man walked from the room to find Michael standing just outside of the door.

"Asshole. You were the only one he wanted to see and you kicked him in the teeth."

Christ, like he needed this now.

"You're the only one he wanted to comfort him. He still loves you, wanted you here and you show up making it sound like a fucking balance sheet, like it's an old debt you're finally able write 'paid' on and file away. You think you could have come up with a way to hurt him any more if you had more time to think about it?"

Justin stared at Michael. Bullshit, that wasn't what he'd meant, Brian knew that. "That's not what I said and it's not how he took it."

"Right. And that's why he threw you out after two minutes when he's been asking for you since the firemen cut him free and loaded him in the ambulance. You made it clear that you're just here to even the score from the bashing. You walk out on him in front of everyone after all the shit he did for you and then you sucker punch him when he's lying in pain in a fucking hospital bed."

"Michael, that's not what I meant, he knew that."

Debbie moved over to where they were arguing. Good, she'd shut Michael up.

"Sunshine, I think it might be best if you let Vic drive you back to the diner or school or someplace now." She was subdued, serious and she wanted him to get lost.

He just stared—Deb, too? He hadn't meant what they thought. Shit, was that what it sounded like? Fuck. He had to tell Brian that wasn't what he meant. He would have come here if he'd had to crawl, they all knew that. Oh, fuck.

Three hours later Ethan found him sitting on the bench by the cafeteria. Planting a quick kiss on his cheek, he asked, "So, why so serious?"

"You haven't heard?" A headshake followed by a questioning look. "There was a fire last night, Brian's building was totaled, some of the tenants were killed, Brian's in the hospital."

"Shit. Bad?"

"Bad enough. I went to see him and said everything wrong that I could have and he threw me out. He's the one in the burn unit and I feel like shit."

Ethan tried a small smile. "Well, if he felt well enough to toss you out, he must be OK."

"I acted like an asshole. I hurt him and he..."

"Justin, I've told you before, he's the asshole and he hurt you lot's of times. Who calls his ex for Chrissake?"

Someone who still loves his ex.

"C'mon, let's get some lunch before the line gets too long." Ethan nudged him with the violin case.

"I'm not hungry. I'll meet you later, OK?"

"Justin, he's a jerk. Forget it. He'll be OK. His friends are there, right? He's got health insurance, doesn't he? He'll be fine. Come on. I'm hungry, eat with me." Reluctantly, Justin got up and joined his boyfriend for lunch, eating nothing and toying with his food while Ethan told him about an upcoming competition.

At midnight he realized that trying to sleep was pointless so, taking care not to wake Ethan, Justin placed his feet on the floor, stood, dressed himself and quietly left the apartment. An hour later he was at the hospital, surprised by finding Brian's bed empty and no sign of him ever having occupied the room.

"Excuse me?" The young nurse looked up.

"Yes?"

"I wanted to see Brian Kinney, but I think that he might have been moved. Would you know where he is?"

"Visiting hours are from six to eight." She sounded like a bitch.

"I know, but he was asking for me last night and I just got in from Harrisburg. Could I just sit with him or something? I won't bother him or anything. Please?"

"I could get in trouble."

"I won't tell anyone who let me see him. Honest. I won't even wake him up. I swear." He tried his smile on her, that usually had a melting effect on women. It seemed to do the trick this time, too. It had worked for him for years.

"You can't disturb him, do you understand? He needs rest and it's late."

"I promise."

"OK—Room 704, but you didn't hear that from me. And don't wake him up."

Ten minutes later he had pulled a chair next to Brian's bed. He was still getting oxygen, but now it was from one of those nose tube things. The IV was still in place and his shoulder looked like it had further surgery, though it didn't have a cast on it. The bandages on it were new, anyway. He had a couple of day's worth of stubble on his face and his eyes were shadowed with what was probably pain. His torso still elevated, occasionally he would groan to himself. His breathing was still labored.

Seeing him shiver, Justin moved to pull the blanket higher the movement causing Brian to open his eyes.

Looking at Justin for a long second Brian whispered "Cold" and closed his eyes again. Putting his hand on the uninjured side of his neck, Justin could feel that his skin was like ice to the touch. This wasn't just needing another blanket. Pressing the call button, he waited for the nurse.

"I think that he's in shock or something. Could he be having a reaction to some meds? He has a pretty high tolerance, but if he's been given the wrong thing it could send him into a reaction."

"Who the Hell are you, honey?" The night nurse was checking his vitals and the various machines.

"A friend of his."

"Are you Justin?" She was looking at the chart.

"Yes, why?"

"I've been wondering if you would come in to see him. He's been saying your name in his sleep and wanted you to know that he's sorry."

"He did?" Despite the circumstances, Justin was inordinately pleased.

"Actually he said that he 'fucked up' but that you're still a—I believe that he called you a 'twat'."

Justin smiled at that. "Yeah, he would."

A doctor walked in. "There's a problem here?"

"It looks like a reaction to the antibiotics and maybe delayed shock from the original trauma or the surgery, Doctor."

Nodding, the man asked Justin to wait outside while the problems were dealt with. An hour later the nurse found him at the end of the hall.

"He's lucky that you broke the rules to see him tonight. He has a better chance of improving now that we know what not to give him. How did you know, Justin?"

"I'm allergic to a lot of things, I'm used to seeing the symptoms, that's all." He wondered, "Could he have died from that?"

"You mean the reaction tonight? No, it wasn't that bad. He wouldn't have felt too good, though." She gave him the first smile he'd seen from her. "He'll have you to thank in the morning."

"Nurse?"

"Nancy."

"Nancy, is he going to be OK?"

"I think so. His lungs will be a while healing and he won't be able to smoke anymore—I mean he won't be able to smoke anything anymore. And his shoulder may never be 100 again, but with therapy he should regain most of it with any luck." She started to walk away then turned back. "You know that's the easy part, don't you? The hard part comes when he has to rebuild what he lost."

"You mean the stuff that was burned?"

"...Yeah, that, too."

Later that day Ethan met him after life drawing class, obviously angry. "You couldn't even leave a fucking note?"

"I guess that I should have, but I knew that you'd be upset so I..."

"You just walked out in the middle of the fucking night."

Justin was tired, worried and really not in the mood for theatrics. "Look, can we do this later?"

"And that's going to make a difference?"

Justin tried to move past him to get to his sculpture class. "I'll be late, I have to go. Look, can we talk about this after class? I don't have time now."

"You sure as shit made time for your old meal ticket."

Justin stopped walking, opened his mouth to say something, changed his mind and continued to class.

Around dinnertime Justin was back at the hospital, startled when he found Brian's bed once again empty, this time, apparently, temporarily. Nancy was passing by when she saw him standing by the window.

"They took him down to radiology, he'll be back soon. You could go get yourself a sandwich and he'll probably be here when you finish."

He shook his head. "Not hungry, but thanks."

"Want a soda with me? I'm headed to a break."

A minute later they were in the nurses lounge drinking soda from the vending machine.

"So you and Brian are a couple?"

He didn't look at her. "We were, on and off, for a couple of years, but I'm with someone else now."

"He's depending on you quite a bit to pull him through this. He was, anyway. What did you say that upset him so much?"

Justin looked at the cheap scarred coffee table in front of him. "Brian doesn't depend on anyone. He says that the only one you can count on is yourself." He took a drink of his coke. "And I said exactly the fuck what he didn't want to hear." His eyes met hers. "He's right, I was being a stupid twat."

"You're the kid who got bashed, aren't you? I remember you from last year and I watched the way he looked after you. I don't know what's happened between the two of you, but he sure as Hell loved you then." She paused a second. "Look, it's none of my business, but if you don't want to be around him then go, because he needs help now, not shit."

"....I know."

"He's got as much to get through as you did last year and he's going to need to lean on you to do it. If you're not up to it, go home."

"Nancy, he has other friends and we're not together anymore."

She finished her soda and tossed the can in the recycling bin. "Maybe, but you're the one he wants."

Michael was sitting next to Brian when Justin walked back into the room. Facing the door, Michael saw him before Brian was aware that his old lover was there.

"Bri? I'm just going to get you some fresh ice, I'll be right back." Grabbing Justin's elbow, he propelled him out of the doorway before he could say anything.

"What the fuck are you doing here? After your little performance, he doesn't want you."

"The fuck you know anything."

"I know he cried for over an hour after you left, so get the Hell out of here. They had to give him shit so that he could sleep, asshole. Like he fucking needed that."

"I didn't mean to say the shit I did, I was upset and it just came out. I want to help him."

"Yeah, well you've helped enough. On top of his injuries and knowing that everything he owned was destroyed in the fire, you let him know that you just see him as a bad debt to be paid back. Do you have any fucking idea how much you hurt him? You learn that from your father?"

"What do you mean with that, asshole?"

"You know, sucker punch him then kick him when he's down?"

Justin tried to push past Michael. "I'll talk to him, I'll make him understand that I didn't mean it the way it came out."

"Justin, just fuck off. Go home to your new meal ticket. Stay the Hell away from him." Michael turned abruptly back into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Deb?" An hour later Justin was standing at the counter at the diner. "Could I speak with you?" She would listen to him, she'd understand that he cared about Brian and just wanted to help.

The dinner rush was over. "Jimmy? I'm taking a break." With obvious reluctance she walked over to him. "Come out back with me." A minute later they were standing behind the building in the evening warmth.

"Deb, I didn't mean what everyone thinks I did. It just all came out wrong. I want to help Brian, I still care about him but no one believes that."

"Justin (he noticed that she didn't call him Sunshine), I believe that you want to help him and I believe that you didn't say what you really meant the other night, but you hurt him so much." She was close to tears. "You have no idea how hard it was for him to let you through all those stone walls he'd built up. He fought like Hell to not let you through and when you did—in seventeen years I've never seen that kid as happy as he was when you two were together. There wasn't a single Goddamned thing he wouldn't do for you and you fucking know that."

"Deb, I know, I..."

"And you walked out on him in the way that you knew would cause him the most possible pain you could. You took everything you could from him. You took his time and his money and his love and then you spit in his face."

"I know—I was wrong and I..."

"And then when he's hurt and asking for you, you—you fucking turn his pain and his needing you into a way for you to make yourself feel good about your charity and a chance to pay him back."

"Deb, I know that was how it sounded, but that's not what I meant t..."

"You know what? I don't give a fuck what you meant." She wasn't going to let him off, not at all, not even an ounce of caring beyond what he had put Brian through. "You've heard some of the shit he dealt with when he was a kid, his parents hated him, his father beat him. He grew up knowing that no one gave a rat's ass about him and after a while he believed that it was because he wasn't worth loving. He fucking believes that down to his toenails. I did what I could to let him know that wasn't true, but he was always too smart for me, always had a sharper argument. Then you came along and somehow, you fucking made him care. He fought it for a long time because he knew he'd end up getting shit on and then when he finally let himself love some one—you, you stomped on him with both feet and you fucking proved him right." She stared him down. "And you broke his heart."

"Please, I want to see him and tell him that it's not like it seems. Deb, I did—do love him."

"Too little, too late." She heard Jimmy calling her from the kitchen. "I've gotta get back. Justin? You stay away from him at least until he's stronger. He doesn't need your crap right now."

He walked into the apartment, having heard Ethan practicing from down on the street. As soon as he opened the door, the music stopped.

"You look like shit."

"Yeah, probably. You don't have to stop."

Ethan put the violin down in it's case on the garage sale desk then went into the bathroom. "You see Brian?"...It was called from behind the closed door.

"Not really. I went, but they wouldn't let me."

"I have a lesson tomorrow at eight thirty so I've got to make it an early night. Come to bed, OK?" He wandered out and over to the bed, now naked, his hand stroking up Justin's back through his tee. Managing a half smile, he removed his clothes and climbed onto the old mattress beside the musician.

"You're with me, right?"

"You know that I am. I'm right here." He rolled over onto his stomach because that was what he knew Ethan liked, felt Ethan's mouth first on his shoulder then sliding down the indent of his spine.

"You want me. You want to be with me and you want me inside of you." His hands were stroking Justin's ass, parting his cheeks, stroking between them.

"I want to feel you in me and I want your hands on me and I want..."

"You want me to fuck me like he fucked you." The hands became increasingly insistent, not as gentle as they were, angry and not loving. "You close your eyes and pretend that I'm taller and thinner and older." The fingers were pushing into him roughly, no lube and causing pain as he intended them to do. "You pretend that you're in his fucking loft and that there's a kitchen full of food and a closet full of expensive clothes and that the shower tomorrow morning will be big enough for everyone in the fucking building."

"Ethan, I don't want him. I want you. Just you, I want you to be in me. I want you."

Without warning the fingers were pulled from him, Ethan's weight was gone. "Get the fuck out."

"What? We're together."

"You asshole. I could be fucking anyone. It wouldn't matter. You'd pretend whoever you were with was fucking Kinney."

"No—I want y..."

"Get the fuck out."

Justin dressed as quickly as he could and, not knowing where else to go—the loft was destroyed, Deb wouldn't have him, he couldn't, wouldn't go to any of Brian's friends, his mother would freak, he finally ended up taking three buses to the hospital.

The nurse, Nancy saw him as he walked down the corridor, smiled and didn't stop him. Pushing the door open as quietly as he could, he sat, again, next to Brian's bed, watching him sleep, hearing the painful wheeze as he breathed in the oxygen. The door closed them in their own world of machines and pain and antiseptic odors.

In the dimly lit room he could make out Brian's face, relaxed, seemingly devoid of pain for the first time that Justin had seen him since the fire. Sitting there, his mind went back to his own waking one night after the bashing on another floor of this hospital, seeing Brian standing outside the window of his room. He could clearly remember seeing the fear on his face and the knowledge was proof that Brian loved him.

He had never told Brian he had known he had been there.

Justin thoughts moved on what his life would be if he hadn't met Brian. Of course, he'd still be gay and might even have found a lover who he would be reasonably faithful to; maybe he would have even fallen in love.

It wouldn't be like what he was feeling now.

He loved Brian, that was never the question. Sure he loved him. He had loved him from that first night. He had even told Daphne that he had seen the face of God.

That was such bullshit.

Brian was no fucking god and he hadn't loved him that first night or even the first few months, maybe longer.

He knew that now.

He had wanted Brian, his body, certainly and he had been intrigued by his intelligence and honesty, his values and the way he lived his life but he hadn't loved him at first. He said he did, but he didn't know.

It was only after time had gone by, after they had finally started the first tentative dance back and forth towards friendship that he had begun to understand the depth of feeling that might, maybe, be possible between them despite the scaring on Brian's soul.

He had chafed at how slowly they moved, the resistance from Brian, his refusal to admit that he had feelings for him or that he would be willing to accept anything from him other than sex.

The catalyst, the bashing had almost finished them before they could understand what they would be to one another.

Neither of them had a clue how to deal with that. Not a fucking clue. It had taken months but finally, painfully, they had gotten there.

It was good, they were happy, they loved each other, their friends knew and were happy for them and they knew what they had together and that it would likely last if they allowed it.

Then Justin had screwed up.

He had decided that he needed Brian to be more romantic, more like a suitor in some trashy romance novel than a real flesh and blood man. He had ignored the fact that Brian was pulled in ten directions everyday, that he had the boys to deal with and work, the munchers and Gus, his insane mother, his father's death, his promotion, Justin's parents and Debbie railing at him constantly and Michael's countless screw ups where he and Brian were concerned.

And he never complained about all the crap that was dumped on him, never said anything when Justin needed money or sex or a ride somewhere.

Justin had just seen that he wanted picnics and flowers and had ignored that Brian was coping with enough shit to sink the fucking Titanic.

And then he had walked out on him during the fucking launch party he had hosted for Rage. Fucking walked out in the middle and then shat on him whenever they ran into each other.

God, he had completely fucked up. When he had screwed Brian he had screwed himself twice as hard.

Oh, bullshit.

Like Hell.

Brian was the one left alone.

Brian was the one everyone had blamed when he had done everything he could frigging think of to help Justin, Brian was the one no one would talk to, who was exiled to fucking Siberia and the one everyone looked at with pity.

And the pisser was that he still loved Brian, he had never stopped.

It had all been because of a temper tantrum thrown by a spoiled brat, a fucking drama queen in full blow.

God, he had fucked up.

He didn't want fucking Ethan. He didn't give a rat's ass about Ethan.

His thoughts tumbled on; spinning along the tracks he had started them on. He willed Brian to wake up, to get better and to want him again. He wanted to make it right and for them to love each other and to be happy again.

He wanted to help him find a new home to replace the loft, one that could belong to both of them. He wanted to walk into the diner holding hands and see the looks on everyone's faces. He wanted to wrap himself around Brian in bed and feel him inside.

He wanted them together.

God, he wanted that with all his heart.

He wanted to tell his mother and his fucking father that they were back together and he wanted a ceremony like Mel and Linds had, even if no one else was there besides the two of them.

He wanted Brian to want him.

He would do whatever it took to get Brian better, he'd help with the physical therapy and make sure that he stopped smoking and he'd even make sure that he had that shitty power drink he liked in the fridge.

He'd wanted them to love each other again.

What was that old song? Something about you don't know what you've got til it's gone? Well, this wasn't gone, Damnit, it was just sort of on vacation for a couple of months.

C'mon Bri, open your eyes, we can start right now.

I'll tell you how Goddamned sorry I am and I'll tell you how much I love you and you'll tell me that it's OK. C'mon, Bri.

We—I wasted enough time with this. It was me. I was the one.

Just wake up and we can start being us again.

You want that, I know that you want that.

We can go to fucking Vermont or wherever you want whenever you're ready, or we can just stay home, I don't care.

Just say that it's OK and that we're back together, OK?

I'll work on the comic with Michael if you want. I'll even make friends with that asshole for you if that would make you happy.

You just do a couple of things for me—will you?

You've got to love me again and you've got to stay home once in a while and the tricks—I know you and I know it's a lot to ask, but not in front of me, alright?

And maybe we can cut down a little on the drugs and the JB.

It's just because I want you safe. Remember when you said that to me? When I wanted you to fuck me raw? You said that you wanted me safe.

I want you safe and I want you around for a long time.

In the silence of the room he felt Brian's eyes on him, reaching over, he took the hand lying on top of the thin blanket, still careful of the IV tubing.

The look on Brian's face was cautious, wary, like a dog wondering if it were about to be kicked again.

"Bri? I love you."

Brian gave him a small smile and managed, "I know."

4/4/03

Title: Fire, Chapter 2

Author: Simon

Pairing: Justin/Brian, natch

Rating: PG-13 language

Summary: A fire destroys the loft

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Yes

Feedback: Hell, yes. 

**Fire, Chapter 2**

**Brian**

They say that serious burns are the most painful things that the human body can experience. I'm not really what you'd call an expert, but for whatever it's worth, I'd say that they sure as Hell are pretty high in the running.

I don't really remember the fire, well not too much of it, anyway.

I had gone to bed around three, early for me on a Friday night, but it had been a bitch of a week and I wasn't in the mood for a trick so I had left the guys at Woody's around two thirty and just gone straight home. I remember tossing my clothes in the hamper, killing the lights and getting into bed.

Alone.

I was tired and went to sleep.

Sounds simple, doesn't it? The type of thing you do a thousand times, maybe ten thousand times in your life and never give a second thought to. Shit. I wasn't even drunk.

You how when people tell stories like this they always say, "The next thing I knew..."?

Yeah, well, the next think I knew is a jumble of impressions with the stench of smoke and a lot of things burning and chaos and people shouting and noise like a war was going on. I remember sirens and not understanding why and that my fucking chest felt like it was on fire—I mean literally on fire, like my skin was melting and so much pain that it was like the world had gone white with the shrieking of it and I couldn't breathe. That was when I started to panic. I honest to shit couldn't breathe and I couldn't get away from the thing that was pinning me down and burning me.

They told me later that if the beam had been metal instead of wood I wouldn't have gotten out. They couldn't have cut through it.

I heard a chain saw and it was so close that it made my ears hurt almost as much as the rest of me did and I saw the blade about five inches from my face. I'm not sure, but I might have screamed then. I mean, shit—wouldn't you? They threw something over my face to protect my eyes or something and cut the fucking beam off of me. Then I think I was moved to the carrying board/stretcher thing and I think that's when I passed out.

I might remember parts of the ride to the hospital, just bits and pieces, but I'm not sure, maybe what I think I remember is a dream or a nightmare. It doesn't really matter either way.

Mostly I remember the pain and the noise and the smells.

The noise—I wanted everyone to just shut the fuck up and they kept shouting and the sirens kept screaming and I hated them more than I've ever hated anything in my whole life. The noise people kept shouting at me, asking me my name and if I had any next of kin (thanks a fucking lot) and if I knew what had happened and then they were telling me not to worry because I was going to be fine.

Lying fucks.

The smells were awful. I hate how things smell when they're burning. I know a lot of people like the smell of a fireplace, but they've never smelled burning plastic and leather and wood and metal and the silk and wool and cotton in the closet and whatever the fuck was in the kitchen all mixed up together.

Oh, and my flesh was burning for a couple of minutes, too. That was pretty bad. It was where the beam was on my shoulder. I would have liked to skip that part.

You know how when you hurt yourself, I mean later after it's better, you don't really remember the pain? Oh, sure, you know that it hurt and that you didn't like how it felt, but the actual feeling, the actual memory of agony has faded?

The memory of this pain hasn't faded. I swear to whatever God is there that I'll remember this pain as long as I have a fucking cell of memory in my brain. I'll never forget this.

I wish that I could, but I'll remember this forever.

But anyway, finally we made it to the hospital and there was so much light that it hurt my eyes and a lot of people were working on me and there were needles and then they said something about my shoulder and then I was being wheeled fuck knew where and they had this mask on my face and that was that for a while.

You want to know what kept flashing into what little part of my brain was still working? I mean the part that wasn't taken up with the pain and the noise? I kept thinking about Justin. I wanted him there. I wanted to hold his hand and I wanted him to be the one to tell me that it was going to be alright and that I'd be fine.

I wanted him to be the cool green shade under a tree, the island of safety and comfort in the middle of the agony.

God, I wanted him there so bad. I wanted him to lean over and kiss me and smile at me with that smile of his and put his hand on my cheek.

I should have told him how much I liked it when he did that and then I felt really bad that I never had told him.

It became important to me that he know how much I had always liked how his hand felt on my cheek and the way he would slide it around to the back of my neck to pull me down for one of his kisses. I just wanted him to know that and I wanted to cry because I was afraid that I would die and he wouldn't ever know.

I guess that was when I started asking for him.

I thought that I was going to die. I really did.

Michael 

I heard about the fire from Tony, my friend from Babylon. He had been on his way home around three and went down Tremont to get to his place and had seen the fire trucks and the ambulances. He knows that's where Brian lives and he knows that we're friends—like anyone doesn't know that.

Anyway, he called me and asked if I had heard. I guess that Ben knew that something bad was happening because of my voice or the look on my face or something and he just said, of course, he'd drive me to the hospital.

That's one of the things that I love about Ben. He doesn't have a problem with Brian and me. OK, yeah, I had a problem with them fucking before we met, but I'm over that. Well, OK, I'm mostly over that. David and Brian hated each other and that was a pain in the ass, but Ben and Brian are OK together.

God, Brian. I know that we tell everyone that we're best friends. You can practically see the little quote things around the phrase; "Michael and Brian, Best Friends". I don't care.

It's true, we are best friends. Of all the people I know and out of all the people I love, he's the one I know will always, always love me.

Yeah, I know, Mom and Vic will always love me, but they have to, they're family. Brian does because he wants to.

He chooses to love me and I love him right back. Before Ben I used to wonder what it would be like if Brian and I were together and I'd dream about it and just sort of wait until he was done screwing around to realize that he wanted me. At some point I clued in that it would never happen, but I still love him. And he loves me and I won't let anyone hurt him.

We got to the hospital and they wouldn't tell us anything because we're not family. All they would say was that he had been admitted and that he was being examined but that they couldn't release any information beyond that.

Assholes.

Ben called the others when we started figuring out that it was really bad. He talked to one of the cops who told us that Brian had been carried out on a stretcher and that he was only semi conscious and that he was badly hurt. In about a half an hour the family started turning up, Linds and Vic and Mom. Then Ted and Em got there. Ben said that he tried to call Justin, which pissed me off, but he said that the phone was out of order. That was like the one bright spot that night.

So Mom showed up and they told her that only family could be informed of anything. Mom, being Mom, told them that Brian was her son and they, sure as fuck, were going to tell her what was happening to her boy, Goddamnit.

She's great.

That's when we learned that his shoulder was crushed. That's what they called it. They didn't say that it was broken, they said that it was crushed and I got this flash of his bones looking like gravel—they crush rocks to make gravel, right? Well, that's what I pictured inside of his shoulder. Then they said that his lungs were singed from the heat and the gases or something and that they were pretty bad.

The worst part was when they told Mom that he had second and third degree burns on his shoulder and part of his arm and up to his neck from where the beam was burning him before they could get it off of him.

Third degree burns. Do you know what they are? That's when your skin actually burns, like a steak.

I thought that Ma would throw up when the Doctor told her that. I know that I wanted to.

She didn't, though. Mom's tough. She just turned to Uncle Vic and told him to go over to the diner to get Justin. He was working the early shift and he had to be told. I argued with her, but she told me not to be a little asshole.

OK, I admit it, I got pissed. I told her that he had walked out and so fuck him, he'd hurt Brian enough.

Ben said that Justin should be told, though. I looked at him like he had lost his fucking mind and he shrugged like he does sometimes and just said that Brian still loves the little shit (OK, that's my word) and would want him there.

So Vic went to get him and the nurse came out when he showed up and took him right in. She said that Brian had been asking for him.

No one else could go in, but the little fuck could.

The little asshole looked like shit when he walked up to us. He looked scared, like we would blame him for Brian being hurt or something. I swear to God, if that little fuck had the balls to start crying in front of me, I would have punched his fucking lights out.

I stood in the open door when he started talking to Brian. I heard him babbling some crap about how he was glad that now he'd be able to pay Brian back for all the care Bri had given him when he was bashed.

Asshole.

He didn't once tell Brian that he was worried about him or that he loved him or even that they were friends, he just went on about paybacks and I could see Brian's face while he was listening to this.

That stupid little shit broke his heart all over again.

Justin 

When Vic told me about the fire and that Brian had been hurt the main thing that I remember is that my mind went blank. I know that people say that sometimes, but mine really did. There wasn't anything in my head except numbness and I couldn't think of what to say or what to do or anything. I just stood there looking at Vic, holding a handful of paper napkins and not knowing what to do next.

Thank God Vic and knew what to do and got my jacket and walked me out to the car.

I think I started saying something about Brian smoking in bed or some shit like that, but I don't know...

Anyway, we got to the hospital, the same one I had lived in for six weeks last year and we walked in and everyone was there.

They all looked up when we got to them and I wish to shit that I could forget the looks on their faces and then I wondered if that was the way they looked when I got bashed and they were waiting for word.

I guess it probably was.

They were scared and angry and hopeful and tired and—scared.

I don't know if I'm the only one who's ever thought about it, but Brian is the center of the family. He's the one they all revolve around and the center of the wheel.

I doubt if he would agree—fuck, what am I saying? He'd laugh and say 'fucking A I am!' and then he'd give you ten reasons why that idea was full of shit.

But he is. He's what holds them all together, he's the one everyone comes to with their problems and he's always the one who bails everyone out and fixes whatever is screwed up this week—snarking the whole time, but steady as fucking Gibraltar and not wanting a Goddamned thing in return.

Except he wanted me to love him.

And I did love him. And then I walked out.

Brian thinks that no one loves him, that no one could and that if anyone ever gets close enough they'll see through his Brian Walls and then they'll know that it's all a façade and he's just a man doing his fucking best everyday, putting one foot in front of the other over and over again.

God, Brian. I'm so fucking sorry.

So I went into the room they had put him in and he was just laying there with tubes and monitors and an oxygen tent over him and his shoulder was covered in bandages but no cast in case it started swelling.

I went around the bed and touched his hand through the plastic of the tent and noticed that his bracelet was gone, replaced by a hospital ID band.

He opened his eyes just enough to see me and I started babbling some crap about how I was glad that I could have a chance to help him now after all he'd done for me. I knew it was a stupid thing to say but I just kept going on about it.

He had looked almost, I don't know, happy? hopeful? to see me and then I started talking and I saw his eyes die.

I fucking killed him and I watched it and I swear to God that I didn't mean it.

I wasn't sure if he knew what I was saying with the pain and all the drugs that were in him, but then I saw the mask drop over his face and, even unable to do more than whisper one fucking word, he threw me out and made me feel like shit.

He knew and I—God, I fucked it up.

So I left the room and Michael reamed me out and I thought that Deb would tell him to shut up, but she was pissed at me, too and that was when I understood that even though she liked me a lot and had given me a place to stay and a job and all kinds of stuff, she liked me, but she loved Brian.

She loved Brian and I was Brian's friend so she took me in, too. Because of Brian.

It was that center of the wheel thing again and I was just one of his spokes.

Vic drove me over to the diner so I could get my portfolio and then he dropped me at school and the whole time he didn't say anything except when I got out at the campus. Then he said "You be careful, OK?" and that was it. No 'see you later' no 'we'll call you'—nothing.

I went to class and after I was sitting on one of the benches when Ethan came over and that was when it just sort of hit me; he's a lightweight. Brian is solid, grounded, but a Goddamned breeze would blow Ethan away. Brian was who you could anchor to and Ethan would be flying around like a kite, blowing in the wind.

Yeah, that made me smile, too. He liked blowing—in the wind or other wise.

So after I finished classes for the day I went back to the hospital. I wanted to tell Brian that I was an asshole and a twat and I was sorry and I just wanted to be there for him.

He was having some tests but when I finally got to see him, Michael was there like a fucking bulldog and he hustled me out of the room so fast that Brian didn't even know I had been there. He reamed me in about ten different directions and I left.

Shit.

So I went over to the diner, thinking that Deb would have cooled down by now, but she gave me a royal reaming, too. OK, Fine. I probably deserved it, I guess.

So next I went back to the apartment.

I noticed that I never refer to that place as 'home'. I did with the loft, even though it was Brian's place, but the apartment is Ethan's and I'm just crashing there and we both somehow know that.

So he picked a fight about my being worried about Brian and probably made it an excuse to throw me out.

Fine, fuck it. By then I didn't care anyway.

I didn't have any place to go—the loft was destroyed, Deb would either toss me out or give me so much shit that I'd wish she had, the munchers didn't want me there. Daphne would want to talk and Mom would be—Mom.

I ended up at the hospital about midnight or so and they let me sit with Brian so long as I didn't bother him in any way. That was OK, I just wanted to be with someone who might not be pissed off at me, and since he was probably unconscious, he'd do.

Sitting there, I just sat, just thinking. I didn't read or look out the window or chat with the nurses, I just thought. After a while I decided that I wanted to have some kind of record of what was going through my mind that night.

Why did I want that? Like I fucking know, but I did.

So I went out to the nurse's station and they gave me a pad and a chart folder to lean on and a pen and I wrote.

Brian 

I knew that someone was there. I had my eyes closed because it was too much work to open them, but I knew. I could hear them breathing and shifting on the chair beside the bed. Occasionally the chair legs made a noise on the floor as the person moved a little.

I figured that it was Mikey. Every time I bothered to open my eyes he was the one who was sitting there, looking at me with that cocker spaniel look he has. It was getting on the one nerve I had left that didn't hurt, so I decided to ignore him and pretend to be asleep.

I wished that Justin would show up. I might have remembered him being there before. I wasn't sure, but I think he had been there and I don't remember, but I think it made me cry and I can't think why that would be.

Things were a little fuzzy, you know?

It's hard to remember what's happened. I think someone told me that the loft is gone but maybe I dreamed that. Maybe it's just because Justin isn't there anymore. I don't know and it's too much work to think about shit like that.

I just hurt so fucking much.

I wish that he'd show up. I know that he won't because we're history now, but I'd like to see him and let him know that he was—important to me.

He wouldn't believe me, but I'd like to tell him that.

I mean when I can talk again without it feeling like someone was trying to rip out my lungs with rusty pliers.

Fuck me I hurt.

Even with the drugs they have pouring in me, I hadn't known that you could hurt this much. I don't even cry anymore like I did at first because that hurts, too.

I just want the pain to stop, even for a little while. Just like a vacation, OK? Give me a couple of days off and then I'll come back, but I need a break from it.

Justin 

You want to know what I was writing?

OK, here it is.

I've been sitting here watching Brian pretend to be asleep. I know he's awake. I've spent enough time in bed with him to know.

_He's in pain. It's easy to see and with Brian that means that he's in a lot of pain. He never let's on when he doesn't feel good, other than a headache or something. He's groaning and I don't think he's even aware of it._

_I wish I knew some magic spell to make him better. I wish that I could say some special words or wave my hands and he's be OK again and he would smile at me and say "Good morning, Sunshine, time to take care of your morning boner" like he used to and then I'd laugh and we'd make love. Then we'd move to the shower and make love again._

That's when I stopped writing.

I'm such a twat. I started crying, fucking allergies, when I got to thinking about making love with Brian when we were happy.

I reached out and lightly touched his fingers and felt them twitch in response. I said his name and he opened his eyes just a little, like the light hurt them or maybe he was afraid of what he'd see.

I love him.

I know that.

I never stopped from the time I knew that I did and what I felt for him. The thing with Ethan was just—fuck, it was just stupid and I don't even know why I did it.

OK, yeah, actually I do know.

It was because Brian was busy and I was a fucking princess and we had some problems that we either didn't know how to deal them with or just didn't want to let the worms out of the can.

And then Ethan came along and said all the shit I wanted Brian to say and when Ethan said it I would close my eyes and pretend that I was in the loft and Brian was whispering that shit to me.

You want to know what one of my favorite memories of Brian is?

After the bashing, after I was sort of better and he let me move back into the loft after I freaked at Mom's, we tried to make love a couple of times and I couldn't. I didn't even really want to, but it seemed that it was important that I let myself be open again and so we tried and it was awful.

Well, finally the memories came back and I could remember what had happened and then I could be touched and I wanted Brian again—that's what I remember. The night we finally became lovers again he was so Goddamned gentle and loving and careful. He treated me like I was made out of fucking glass and he couldn't bear to do anything that would in any way chip me or make me crack again. He held me and touched me, we kissed and I loved the feel of his hands and his mouth on me and he was so incredibly giving and I loved him so fucking much then. Then after he came and he was still inside of me catching his breath, he looked at me and he put his hand on my cheek and he asked me if I was alright. I practically cried because I was better and we could be together and I knew that, even if he didn't say it, I knew that he loved me back.

I thought all this while I looked at him as he lay there in pain and looked like he was afraid of what I'd say this time.

He looked scared.

I'd never seen Brian scared, other than when he talked about the bashing and he almost never mentions that.

I pressed just the tips of his fingers because I didn't know what would cause him more pain and I told him that I love him.

He looked at me like he wasn't sure what I had just said, like he was trying to understand the words and then he whispered that he knew.

I stood up then and leaned over him. He had those oxygen tubes in his nose and he was in a lot of pain, but I leaned over him and put my hand on his cheek really softly and kissed him as gently as I could.

I sat back down but I kept my hand on his cheek and told him that I wanted to take care of him, not because of some stupid payback, but because I love him and that's what you do for people you love. You take care of them.

He just kept looking at me with those eyes of his that can always look straight through me and whispered "Ethan?" and I told him that it was over and he was right. I was being a twat, but I had wised up and I wanted to come back, if he would let me.

I guess that I thought that he'd smile and that would be that and we could move on to getting him well and I would be fucking Florence Nightingale.

That's not what happened, though.

He closed his eyes again because he was so tired and he because he hurt so much and he just whispered "no".

I tried to talk to him and make him understand that I loved him and I wanted to be together and I wanted to help him but he just whispered "no" again and then he said, well, he really just breathed the words, "hurts too much".

I knew that he meant that I had hurt him too much.

Fuck. I knew that. I knew that I'd hurt him so badly and I guess that for a while, when I was being stupid I wanted to, but now I just wanted to take it all back and have us love each other again.

I knew that he wanted it, too. I know that.

By then he really had drifted off and I stood up to stretch my back. Turning I saw Debbie in the doorway.

I could tell that she had heard what I had said to him and that she might not have been able to hear his answers, but she sure figured out that I wouldn't be planning to order any stationary with both of our names on it any time soon.

She asked me why I wanted him back and why would I think that he would let me in again after the way I had cut his heart out so that anyone who cared to could watch the execution.

I told her the truth. I told her that I loved him, that he loved me and that there wasn't anyway I'd stop loving him, no matter if he had pushed me off a cliff or a waterfall or a fucking skyscraper.

I'd been stupid.

She gave me her 'yeah, so' look and then kinda shrugged and said that sure he loved me, any asshole could see that. She wanted to know if I could deal with him and take his shit or if I'd walk out again the next time my panties got tied up in knots. She told me that Brian wasn't a fucking teenage romance. He was a grownup with grownup problems and if that was too much for me then I should get my ass someplace else.

So I went back into Brian's room and sat down.

TBC

Title: Fire, chapter 3

Author: Simon

Pairing: Justin/Brian, natch

Rating: PG-13 language

Summary: A fire destroys the loft

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Yes

Feedback: Hell, yes. 

**Fire Chapter 3**

Justin 

I decided to stay at Mom's condo for a while until things got settled. She was being pretty good about it but I could tell that she was sorry that the thing with Ethan didn't work out.

Yeah, well, we didn't, as they say, have legs.

I just kept hanging around the hospital whenever I could get away from school and the diner. It wasn't as much time as I would have liked, but Brian made it pretty damn clear that if I cut classes or work he'd have my ass banned from his room.

I went through the days marking time until I could get back to Brian and I think that he was starting to look forward to seeing me everyday, at least at little bit. If nothing else, being in a hospital is pretty fucking boring, especially when you're there for a long time. Believe me, I know.

We were into the second week of Brian's recovery and things were getting complicated.

Aside from the sheer agony that he had to deal with daily between the damage to his lungs, the burns and his smashed shoulder, he was starting to have to really think about the loss of the loft, it's contents. The jeep had debris fall on it during the fire and had been declared totaled. Well, actually that was the easy part—Brian was insured up the wazoo and the agents were pretty good about taking care about that end of things.

He could pick out a new car when he was up to it and since the homeowners insurance he had was extensive, everything was pretty much covered. It would be a pain in the ass to replace it all from his toothbrush to his clothes to his furniture and dishes, but it could be done.

Things like pictures and albums and art were just gone.

That was one of the things that surprised me the most about him when we became close. Brian has a couple of photo albums—OK, had. He had a couple of albums of family and friends and Gus and me. He hid them, but he sure as shit had them.

He threatened my balls more than once if anyone found out.

There was still no decision as to whether or not he would want a space in the building when it was replaced. The owners were still looking at plans and Brian wouldn't want just some crappy apartment in a standard building.

He'd wait and see about that.

Then there were all the records that had gone with the wind, as it were.

Sure he had his computer files backed up on CDs, but they were lost along with the computer itself. Some of the files were in his machine at work, but a lot of stuff was just gone.

Ted, as his accountant, had copies of his taxes and the numbers of bank accounts and stock numbers and that sort of thing, but he had lost so much that it was amazing that it had all fit into the loft to begin with.

It was about the second week that the depression started.

The doctors and nurses told us to expect it, but it hit with a vengeance and it was really hard to see and I couldn't begin to know how to really deal with it. I'd gone through it myself, and I still didn't know how to help him.

God, he made me feel like a useless twat.

It's because Brian is just so fucking smart. You would say something to try to cheer him up or get him to put things in perspective and he'd cut you off at the knees every time.

He lumped a lot of things in together. He included his injuries, of course and the loss of his home, but I think the big thing was that he still didn't believe that I really wanted us back together.

I know that sounds pretty pathetic, like I have that much to do with his state of mind, but I think it's true.

I loved him and when he finally believed me and let himself admit that he loved me back, I kicked him in the nuts and jumped ship.

OK, sure, I had my reasons, but that doesn't change the fact that I did a shitty thing in a really shitty way and he just didn't trust me anymore.

Or anyone.

He might like to see me come to see him, but he sure as hell wasn't about to suggest that we become roomies any time soon.

Fuck.

Emmett 

You know what, sweetie? Brian Kinney is one of the dumbest smart people I know.

That's a fact.

Now you have to understand that I love Brian to death, he's smart and he's funny—if you don't happen to be his target and he always talks straight.

Well, you know what I mean by that.

He tells the truth to everyone except himself and that's such a shame because that little twink loves the Hell out of him and he just can't bend himself enough to believe it.

Low self esteem, you know. It's a killer.

There he is, sitting there all hurt and with a major case of the wimwams and the one person who could climb in bed with him and make all those boogiemen go away is the one he won't let get close enough to help.

I'm working on it, though.

A lot of people don't understand why those two are together, what with all the differences between them. I understand it though; I always have thought that they're perfect for each other.

Brian needs someone as smart as he is so he isn't bored and who won't always let him be in control, someone who sees through all his bullshit and loves him anyway. Someone who looks past the crap to see that he's a sweet and generous man who cherishes his friends and wants someone who will love him and hold him all night long—after they've fucked their brains out, of course.

Justin needed a teacher at first, and Brian was that. Now he needs a lover who adores him and steers him and comes home to him and demands that he put out 100 in his work and won't let him get away with his bullshit like a lot of people do when he flashes that sweet smile of his. He needs someone who will let him love him as much as he wants to love someone.

See what I mean? They're perfect.

It's hard to see how much poor little Sunshine is hurting with all this, though. When we've had other hospital watches, with Ted and then with Justin we dealt and it was pretty straight forward, but with Brian things are never easy.

He is just one primo mondo drama queen, Armani suits notwithstanding.

I do what I can for the Sunshine, but he's determined to take care of Brian himself, come Hell or high water—and it might.

You know, one time I heard Debbie said that those two were pretty evenly matched. More's the pity.

This could take some time.

Debbie 

Poor fucking Brian.

That asshole.

I love him, couldn't love him more if he really was my son, but he pisses the Hell out of me, always has and likely always will.

Yeah, sure. I felt sorry for him when he was a kid and he'd come over all beat up again by his fucking father. Let me tell you, that was one son of a bitch I didn't cry over when he finally died.

Brian had a hard time of it, no question about it and if he'd one ounce of softness in him he wouldn't have made it. He landed on his feet, though, and he got there by occasionally walking right over whoever was in his way.

He was lonely. I could see that. I mean, it's not like it was fucking hard to do. He hung around here, pretending like we were his real family and I guess that, in a way we were. He had a couple of pretty serious affairs when he was younger, in college, but they didn't amount to anything and they just added a new layer of scar tissue to his poor fucked up heart.

Michael always hoped for something, but I could see that Brian wouldn't let that happen. He can't fuck anyone he cares about. I guess that's too personal. He only fucks strangers—until Sunshine.

If I've ever seen anything scare Brian, it was that little kid, all blonde hair and blue eyes and cute butt. Sunshine fell in love with him and he fell in love right back and he was scared to death.

He's lying in that damned hospital room and he's in such pain that I want to cry just to look at him and he won't let the one person he wants in through even the tiniest chink in those fucking walls he's put back up because now he's added barbed wire and electric fences on top of everything else that he had there.

I was pretty pissed off at Sunshine at first, I won't deny it. He tore Brian's heart right out and then he just danced a Goddamned jig on it and I wanted to just smack him a good one when I saw that.

I got over it a little when I thought that he was happy with that musician, even though I thought the kid was sort of greasy for the wasp prince, but whatever.

Then Justin changed his mind again and can't seem to understand that Brian is fucking hanging on with his fingernails right now and doesn't need anything else to deal with while he's still flat on his back.

He needs everything he's got just to try to get well and deal with everything that he's lost in the fire and Justin acts like he's just trying to help but what he's doing is being a constant fucking reminder to Brian that he fucked him over and now he's back and let's do it again.

I can see the look on Brian's face. I know him too well for him to scam me.

He still loves that twink and he's so scared right now that he can't think or anything. He'd probably like nothing more than to hold hands with Sunshine and tell him what he's really thinking and let it all out, all that shit that he's bottling up again.

But he won't, not yet, anyway.

He's too scared.

You know that old saying—burned once, twice shy?

Well, Brian had a lot more than his lungs burned and I don't know if Sunshine understands that.

Brian 

He's back.

Maybe he never left, I don't even know anymore.

He's trying to help, I know that. I just wish that he'd stay the fuck away from me, but when I go to yell at him—I mean what passes as a yell at this point, I can't. I'm afraid that if I throw him out he might not come back and I want him to put his hand on my cheek again and kiss me hello and goodbye like he's taken to doing.

I look forward to it and want him to keep his hand on me even though I know that he won't.

I love that he touches me and he knows it.

The loft is gone, along with everything in it.

It took me a while to understand that, but I do now. I guess that I do, I mean. Even the fucking car was destroyed when some shit from the building fell on it.

There were a couple of insurance adjusters here yesterday and they were sympathetic and then they told me that I'd be compensated. When they left they said that they hoped I'd feel better.

Right.

Shitheads. I'd like to see that.

The family keeps coming by and I wish that they'd just leave me the fuck alone. It's not that I don't appreciate that they're here—in fact I do.

It just pisses me off to have them looking at me like they feel sorry for me.

You want to know when that first started bothering me? People feeling sorry, I mean? It was back in junior high school and my father would be beating the shit out of me and some of the teachers figured it out but were too pansy-assed to say anything. They would just look at me with this stupid expression on their faces and it didn't do dick other than to piss me off.

It still pisses me off.

Justin doesn't look like that. He just looks like he's afraid that I'll throw him out like a puppy I don't want.

I won't.

I mean I want to, because I couldn't take it if he left me again and I know that he will.

They always leave.

It's like waiting for a shoe to drop and when it does, it's going to be a fucking shit kicking boot.

The truth is that I want him here and I'm scared to Hell that if I admit that he'll smile that big Sunshine smile and then he'll turn around and walk out the door. It's like a pissing contest and I'm just really not up to it right now.

The have me starting the rehab for my lungs. My shoulder is still too fucked to do much other than immobilize it and the doctor thinks that it will need some kind of reconstructive surgery at some point, but the lungs are the playthings de jour.

The exercises are a party, let me tell you.

They have me doing all this shit to try to strengthen them and all it seems to be doing is ripping my Goddamned chest in half. Fucking pain like you wouldn't believe.

You know, I keep thinking that Justin had a long haul when he got bashed, but this is different. He was hurt and it was bad, but this fucking pain all the time—shit. I just want to give up sometimes or curl up into a ball and cry.

I did that yesterday after a rehab session, it hurt so fucking much. I just lay there on the bed and cried like I was four years old. I didn't notice Justin was there until I finally realized that his hand was rubbing my back and it felt good. He was talking to me, too, saying the usual shit you say to someone about how it would get better and that I'd be alright.

He kept his hand on my back the whole time, just rubbing up and down and sometimes in circles.

Thank God.

I don't want him to leave.

**Michael**

OK, so I go to see Brian today and, thank God, Boy Wonder was at a class or something so I could actually try to talk without the little pain in the ass running interference.

I couldn't fucking believe it, I mean I really couldn't.

So it seems that Brian is scheduled to be released in a couple of days. Don't these people have any fucking clue just how far he is from being well? He still can't even begin to breathe right and his shoulder is a fucking jigsaw puzzle of broken bones that need to be put back together.

Oh, you want to hear a good one about that?

Because his lungs are still so fucked up, the doctors say that the shoulder surgery will have to wait and then they may have to rebreak his shoulder since the bones are starting to knit wrong.

Do you fucking believe that? Like he hasn't enough to deal with.

Jesus.

And they're releasing him.

I asked him where he was going to go since the loft is gone and he just sort of shrugged (with one shoulder) and said that they had recommended a convalescent hospital he could stay in that's just outside of the city.

He said that would be alright but I could tell that he was pretty depressed about the thought, not like I blame him.

If he had a normal family he could have gone to his mother's or his sister's but like he'd ever do that.

I told him that he could stay with my Mom and he flat-out refused, said that he wouldn't do that to her because she had enough invalids there with Vic.

If the loft was still there he could have just gone home and gotten a nurse to help him out.

Shit.

He won't say anything, but he's pretty upset about this. I mean, all he wants to do is go home.

**Jennifer**

I could kill Justin, I swear that I could.

He came home last night and announced that he had invited Brian to use my condo—MY condo as a convalescing home.

It seems that he's ready to be released from the hospital and has nowhere to go and can't be on his own yet. He was all set to go to that Convalescent place over in Irwin this coming Wednesday, it was all arranged. It would have been fine, I mean, that's what they do there; take care of people who need medical help.

As soon as Justin heard that he was up in arms about how Brain would hate the place, that he'd be unhappy there and it would slow down his recovery—well, too bad.

He is not my problem.

And I am not happy that my son has invited his older male ex lover into my home when he can't even bath himself, for the love of God.

Did I object? Of course I did.

I did everything from tell him that it was inappropriate to the fact that Molly would be there to that the place isn't big enough to the out and out truth that I simply don't want him there.

Justin, needless to say, didn't care.

I even simply said no.

He countered that was fine and he'd leave, too.

I said fine to that and he—called my bluff.

Damnit.

He knows that I want him with me and he knows that after the bashing I worry about him and want him where I can keep an eye on him.

If I really refused to let him stay, Justin would believe that I dislike Brian.

I don't, really.

He's not my favorite person in the world, I'll admit that, but he's not as bad as I first thought. He was helpful and kind when Justin was hurt and I haven't forgotten that.

Of course I also haven't forgotten that he was the one who instigated the thing in the first place or that he's twelve years older than my son and that he's had countless lovers—tricks and that he's the one who introduced Justin to—that life.

I spoke to Brian in the hospital and he was surprised to know that I had agreed to Justin's demand that he be allowed to stay. He insisted that he would be fine at the convalescent home and that he would even prefer to go there.

He was adamant that he didn't want to intrude and he knew that I only agreed because of Justin. In fact, he asked me if I'd lost my f-ing mind.

He went on, in what little voice that he has, to say that if Gus ever pulled the s—t that Justin is he'd chew him a new a—hole.

I know. I should have stood firm with Justin, but I just couldn't. He's been through so much and he's still so young. I know that he's hoping tat he and Brian will get back together and when I said that to Brian he assured me that it would never happen.

He told me that he'd done his time with Justin and that he'd be happy to just be friends. In fact he said that as far as he was concerned they had moved beyond sex to friendship.

I don't believe that any more than Justin or Brian do.

Justin would sleep with Brian again in a heartbeat, even if Brian isn't ready for it.

I give up.

So, the bottom line is that he'll arrive Wednesday and move into Justin's room. There will be a nurse who will assist him in whatever help he needs and take him to therapy sessions.

They say that I won't have to lift a finger.

Right.

**Brian**

I don't believe it. Jennifer actually agreed to have me stay in her place when I get out of here.

The twink got his way, after all.

It wasn't my idea, OK? I was all set to go someplace else. It would have been fine.

I could have refused and gone to the place in Irwin the hospital recommended. It would have made the PT easier since it's right there and there's a staff full of nurses and doctors.

I sure as shit didn't want to go there, though. Justin knew that even though I didn't say anything. It would have just have been another hospital and I've had my fill.

What I really want is to go home, but that's not an option right now.

I still hurt a lot, all the time. I'm still on painkillers that fucking Seabiscuit would choke over and I spend a whole lot of time pretty out of it. OK, I spend a lot of time really out of it.

It still hurts so fucking much. Every breath hurts. Every time I move, my shoulder hurts. When I try to lift my head up, after the pain fades a little, I get so dizzy that I want to puke.

I just want to climb into my own bed with my own sheets and get clean in my own shower. I want to watch my own fucking TV and listen to my own Goddamned CDs and I would like to go home in my own fucking car.

Well, we know none of that is going to happen anytime soon, now don't we? All that shit is in some landfill somewhere by now.

So, instead I go to someone else's home and sleep next to my ex lover.

It's better than another hospital, but I'm keeping my options open.

Fine, it's a whole lot better than another hospital. I guess. At least in a hospital it's not personal.

I can just see the picture on Joanie's face if I showed up. Maybe we could all have dinner with Father Tom one night. That might be a kick.

No sex, I hope he knows that. It's not that I wouldn't fuck him in a heartbeat, but I can't. I mean, my shoulder is still a Goddamned mess and I haven't drawn a full breath in weeks. I'm still using fucking oxygen on and off.

Jennifer doesn't want me there. I know that. I'll deal with the ice princess act she has going whenever she sees me, but I know that she's picturing me and Justin going at it. I wonder if she wonders who tops?

Justin mentioned once he told her he's good at giving head—I guess he said 'sucking cock'. I wonder if she ever looks at us and pictures that.

So, OK. Why did I agree to stay where I'm so obviously not wanted?

Justin. I want to be with Justin.

Pretty fucking simple when you think about it.

I won't tell him this, needless to say, but the thought of having him almost to myself and sleeping in his bed—shit, how was I going to turn that down?

This should be a fucking peach of a visit.

Title: Fire, Chapter 4

Author: Simon

Pairing: Justin/Brian, natch

Rating: PG-13 language

Summary: A fire destroys the loft

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Yes

Feedback: Hell, yes. 

Note: OK, I finally had a minute to ask the sweet doctor I work for what would be the long-term effects of Brian's injuries...well, it ain't pretty, kids, but it's fairly medically accurate. Most of it, anyway. I dunno. Maybe I should have just given him a bad cold.

**Fire, Chapter 4**

Brian moved into Jennifer's condo about lunchtime on Wednesday. He had no choice but to arrive by ambulance and had to be helped up the stairs. The exertion was more than he was ready for and he was forced to spend the rest of the afternoon sleeping.

He had hired a full time nurse who would be in attendance from eight in the morning until six in the evening, starting the next day. The rest of the time Justin had promised to take care of whatever he might need.

His doctor had complained about him having home care, insisting that he needed to be in a professional facility where he could really be watched and looked after, but he had refused, changing his mind after first agreeing to being admitted to a convalescing home outside of the city.

The doctor has tried to explain to him that his shoulder really couldn't be moved and had to be protected and that his lungs were still damaged and would be prone to infection and

That he couldn't do the things that he would be tempted to do—like walking unassisted or using the bathroom if no one was home in case something happened.

He would have to sleep a tremendous amount and he would have to be taken to physical therapy everyday—that in itself would be an effort and could well prove beyond him.

Brian had insisted, saying that if need be he would move if the arrangements he'd made weren't working.

Reluctantly, the doctor agreed, expecting to see him in Irwin within the week.

He woke up an hour or so before dinner that first day needing to use the bathroom and, after making one attempt to get up, knew that he wouldn't be able to do this alone.

The house was quiet, no sounds of a TV or talking or of dinner being prepared.

Shit.

"Justin?" He still couldn't manage enough breath to shout. No one would hear him and he had to pee. He tried again. "Justin?"

Nothing.

After a couple of minutes he was about to give up when Molly came into the room, solemn and slightly shy. Very slightly.

"Do you need something?"

"Yes, are Justin or your mother around?"

"No, they went out to get the Chinese food for dinner."

Hell.

"Do you think that they'll be long?"

"They just left a few minutes ago and they said something about stopping at the food store, too."

Hell and damnation.

"Molly, do you think that you could help me to stand up?"

She looked doubtful. "How much do you weigh?"

"I'm not sure, maybe one seventy, maybe a little less since I got hurt. You wouldn't have to carry me or anything, just help me stand up."

"Why?"

"...I have to use the bathroom." She looked like she was about to run screaming from the room.

"I don't have to watch or anything, do I?"

"You might learn something." He repressed a small smile at her look. "You get me there, I'll do the rest. Just stay away from my shoulder, OK?" His shoulder was in heavily bandaged and kept immobilized in a close fitting sling.

Molly, with the utmost of reluctance, did her part. A few minutes after she had escorted him into the facilities she heard the flush through the closed door and let him lean on her as he painfully made his way down to the living room to wait dinner. She joined him, studying him intently. Even at twelve she could see that he was pale, in pain and probably just wanted to go back to sleep.

Winded from the walk down the stairs, he was sucking on the portable oxygen tank that had arrived as part of his luggage.

"Brian, would you get angry if I asked you a question?"

"Probably not. What would you like to know?"

"How come you're here?"

He resisted the impulse to snap off one of his snarky retorts. "You know the reason. I was hurt in a fire, my home was destroyed and I'm trying to get better."

"Yeah, right. So why aren't you in a hospital or something? How come you're in our house?"

"Justin and I are friends and he thought that I'd be more comfortable here." He saw the snide adolescent look. "Do you think that it's going to be a problem?"

"No, I don't care, as long as I don't have to help you to the bathroom all the time or anything gross, but Mom is pretty pissed off at Justin right now."

"Yeah, I caught that. Because I'm here or is there another reason?" Brian loved honest kids—no bullshit. One more thing about him most of his friends wouldn't believe.

"Sure. She thinks that you're too old for Justin and she was hoping that you two were history—especially after he moved in with Ethan. And she says that you drink too much and probably do too many drugs and that you're a really bad influence."

Well, OK, maybe a little deceit might be good thing.

"That's her opinion, what do you think?"

"Well, you probably are too old for him, but I don't care about that. My grandmother was seventeen years older than my grandfather—it was her second marriage after my real grandfather died and they were pretty happy." She crossed her legs on the floor, Indian style. "And you do drink and smoke too much and you probably do a lot of drugs."

"How the Hell do you know that?"

"Justin told me some of it and Daphne told me some more."

"Lying shits."

"They are not."

"Whatever. OK, you told me what the others think, what about you?"

"Well, I don't care that you're gay, if that's what you mean. It freaked my parents, but I'm over it. Justin loves you and you make him happy when you aren't being shitty to him, so you must be mostly OK." She got up to get a soda from the kitchen. "And Dad hates you, so you can stay."

Smart kid. "Does Dad know that I'm here?"

"Not yet—that's going to be a party. You want something to drink?" She left to get the can of soda she wanted and the bottle of water Brian had asked for. He would have preferred a good double of JB, but that was another thing that was on hiatus while the painkillers had priority. Craig didn't know yet? Oh, great, party central. Maybe he could break the other fucking shoulder.

They heard the front door open. Justin and Jennifer went into the kitchen with whatever they had brought back. It didn't matter much to Brian since he hadn't had much of an appetite since the fire—he assumed that it was partly the drugs they had him on and partly because he just felt so shitty.

Whatever, he'd try to eat something to be polite, if nothing else.

"Brian? Do you think that you can make it to the kitchen or would you just like to eat right here?"

"Whichever you prefer, Jennifer." He could barely sit upright in either room; it didn't make any difference to him.

She saw the shape he was in, it was apparent that he should be back in bed. "Why don't we just put on a movie and picnic here, OK?"

He tried to smile at her and was putting the oxygen mask where it was slightly less obvious. Justin brought out the plates and various pieces of silverware (no chopsticks here, too wasp) and offered him the cold noodles and steamed dumplings he knew Brian always ordered. Molly put Lord of the Rings on the DVD while they ate.

After about four bites he was through, Molly actually noticing and quietly taking his plate from where he was balancing it on his lap.

"You should eat more, Brian. You need to build up your strength."

"I know, Jen. I'm still off my feed."

"Bri, the doctor said that you have to eat."

"Fuck off, Justin. I've had enough." Both of the ladies stopped dead. Justin and Brian didn't even blink, they understood each other.

About fifteen minutes later the others had finished their food, Justin sitting on the couch next to Brian. After another couple of minutes he had slumped over, his head using Justin's shoulder as a pillow, dead asleep. They left him there until the end of the movie. Reluctantly, Justin woke him and managed to maneuver him up the stairs and into the bed, gently stripping off most of his clothes before laying him on the left side of the mattress to protect his injured shoulder, propped up on pillows to ease his lungs. Sliding in next to him, Justin felt Brian's fingers wrap around his own hand and heard the now familiar whispered voice. It had been a long time since they had shared a bed.

"I know this is hard on everyone. If it becomes too much, I'll leave."

"It won't."

"If it does, I'll go and I don't want to deal with any of your shit. OK?"

"...OK."

Thursday Justin's classes didn't start until after lunch, so he was there when the nurse, Kathryn, arrived to help get Brian started on the day. She was a strong woman and used to dealing with large men who needed help. She was good at her job and had no problem getting Brian's morning toilet accomplished and his breakfast and meds into him so that they would be on time for his PT session at ten.

Justin wanted to wait around until he came home around one, but Brian wouldn't hear of it—"With what I'm paying for your fucking tuition? Get your pink ass to class, Sunshine."

The PT time, or party time with Dr. Mengele, as Brian had mentally nicknamed it, was as bad as an outpatient as it was when he was under hospital arrest. It left him exhausted, dripping with sweat, shaking and in pain. Back at the condo he made it as far as the living room couch before falling asleep, or passing out, which ever you prefer.

He drifted up through the haze when he felt someone staring at him. Opening his eyes, he saw Ethan sitting across from him, taking his measure.

Talk about not catching him at his best.

Fuck.

"You want something?"

"I came by to drop off the rest of Justin's shit."

Brian saw no reason to comment, besides, he felt like crap.

"You know, when Justin heard that you were hurt he dropped everything to rush right over and hold your hand. You're the reason he left, you shit."

Hell, more teenaged angst.

"We'd still be together if your fucking place hadn't gone up in a blaze of glory."

"Yeah, you caught me. That's why it happened—to break up your little love nest."

"Fucker. We were doing alright. He was almost over you and then this happened. One more week or two with me and he wouldn't have left for you."

"Yeah, well, life's a bitch." Brian was still lying on the couch, not about to admit that he couldn't get up without help. He was trying for unconcern, hoping that it wasn't coming off as too injured to sit up on his own steam. "Unless you have something new to add, you could skedaddle back on home."

Ethan was pissed and Brian suspected that he might have pushed the boy too far. Standing to go, he took a step closer to the couch, next to Brian. In one movement he slapped Brian's broken shoulder, openhanded, hard, and it was a fucking bulls eye. He could feel the broken bones scraping against each other as the pain exploded—hurting too much to scream or do anything other than go white and gasp.

He was vaguely aware that Ethan had gone, but couldn't comprehend anything beyond the pain.

Kathryn came in, horrified by what she had just seen from the doorway but been too far away to stop.

"Mr. Kinney, Brian—can you hear me?" She thought that he was going to pass out again. Thinking it would hurt less if he did, he complied.

Later, when it was dark, he woke enough to know that he'd been moved. The sounds and the smells told him that he was back in a hospital and he felt himself slipping into the darkness of depression that had started to slightly lift when he had been allowed to stay at Jennifer's.

He hated hospitals.

A lot of people hated them, he knew that—that's where people died and where there was pain, either your own or that of a loved one. OK, other than a lawyer, no one could be really said to like the places, but Brian had the added incentive of countless trips when he was a kid. Every time Jack would whale the tar out of him, every time he was kicked down the stairs or had his ribs broken or something, that's where he would end up.

Most kids, when in the hospital, could look forward to ice cream and maybe a bunch of comic books or some new toys. Brian knew that he would have the joy of more interviews from more damn social workers who would wonder why his parents didn't come to see him other than to pick him up.

Then there were the nights he had spent there after Justin's bashing and Ted's coma when he had to decide about whether or not they should pull the plug.

The only positive thing he could think of about the fucking places was Gus.

That first night when Gus was born was—always would be—one of the best parts of his life. Always.

And that led him to Justin.

Shit, Justin.

Even if Justin wanted them together again, and he wasn't convinced yet that was the case, what could he offer him now?

Even if he recovered, it would be a long haul. The doctor had told him that last week—there was the shunt, the drain still in his lungs, there was his shoulder and after that was cleared up there would be the rehab, which he had been told would not, in all likelihood not return him to what he had been before. He was simply too badly hurt to recover all the way.

That was what the doctor had privately told him when he had insisted that the man cut the bull and tell him the truth.

Fuck.

That was what the doctor had told him.

He hadn't told his friends, had made the doctor agree to keep it quiet, but his lungs were permanently damaged. They would improve, but they would never be better.

No more smoking, nothing physically exertive—he hadn't actually asked about sex, but he was willing to guess where the smart money was regarding marathon sessions anytime soon.

Shit.

Well, that was that. He'd had a good run, there was no denying that.

He felt gentle pressure and, after a minute, realized that someone was holding his hand. Opening his eyes enough he saw that it was Justin staring at him.

"I thought that you were waking up. You really scared us, you know. Mom was freaking out. You feel any better?"

No, he felt like Hell. "Yeah, some—so I'm back here."

"Yeah, they thought that it would be a good idea. Um, they think that while they have you here they might do some work on your shoulder in the morning."

"You mean surgery? They were going to wait on that."

"I know, but Ethan managed to cause a little problem that they want to go in and fix and while they're in there, they thought that they would just clean up a few things."

OK, so he was going to have an operation tomorrow. Fine, whatever. It didn't really matter to him and they might as well get it over with. "I guess that staying at the condo wasn't such a hot idea."

"Fucking Ethan. I'm sorry that he.... I had no idea that he would show up and..."

"Forget it. It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters."

"Well, I don't want to fucking talk about it. It's over."

A white coated doctor walked in. "Mr. Kinney, you're awake. Good. I was hoping to speak with you before I had to leave tonight. Has your friend here told you what we're planning to do in the morning?"

"Not really."

"Basically, we're planning on giving you a new shoulder. We'll be installing a synthetic joint which should be a very large step in getting you on the right road here."

"Synthetic? Why is this the first I've heard of this?"

"We weren't sure that it would be necessary before, but now with the added damage from this afternoon we've decided that it would be the best choice for you."

"How much recovery can I hope for? How good will this be?"

"There are no hard and fast rules, but the new joint will be almost as natural as your original. You understand that there will still be therapy and you'll need to regain your strength and that this won't happen over night, but I think that in the long run you'll be satisfied."

"Are there any other alternatives?"

"In my opinion, this is the best choice in this case. If you wish a second opinion, I'd be happy to wait a day or so."

Justin had gone pale. "Brian? Do you want to talk to someone else about this? This is pretty major."

The surgeon he had was the best one who could be had short of traveling to LA or New York, neither of which Brian was up to. "Fuck it. Let's get it over with."

"Alright, Mr. Kinney. I'll have the nurse give you something to relax you and help you sleep and I'll see you about seven thirty tomorrow. Good night."

"...Brian, are you sure about this? It sounds like a big deal and..."

"Like I said, let's get this over with." He was surprised to see that Justin seemed as upset as he felt. "I'll be fine, he's a good doctor. Besides, I want to start getting better, Sunshine. This sucks."

"I'll be here when you wake up, OK?"

"Fuck that. You have classes tomorrow and there's nothing that you can do."

"Brian, I'd like to be here..."

"Fucking no. You have better things to do than to fucking hover over me." He meant it, he didn't want Justin waiting around for him to come out of the surgery. "And don't tell the others. I don't need their shit."

"But..."

"I'll tell them later."

"Brian, they'll want to know that..."

He fixed his glare on the boy. "I said no. No get the fuck out of here. You're pissing me off."

"I'll be here when you wake up."

Brian smiled. "Good."

The nurse came in, shot in hand. "Mr. Kinney? The doctor wants you to have this now."

A couple of minutes later he had been forced back to sleep and Justin walked out of the room, pausing long enough to kiss him gently. He knew that Brian wouldn't know, but it made him feel better and there certainly was no harm in it.

"So he's thrown you out? That's your true love, being true to character."

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you—I know that whatever crap he told you happened today was a load of bullshit."

"What? That you hit a man who's so badly injured that he can't even sit up without help? Fuck off, Ethan. You're a shit, you know that? You have any idea how badly you hurt him today? We had to call an ambulance to bring him here."

"He's an asshole, Justin. You weren't fucking there. You don't know the shit he said about you."

Justin stared him down. "Get the fuck out of here. Leave me alone, leave Brian alone. If you come near either one of us again I'll press assault charges for what you did to him today."

"Would you just listen to me? You want to know what really happened?"

"I don't give a shit. I know that you hurt him when he couldn't defend himself. You're a shit and you're gone."

"Justin—listen to me."

"Ethan—get fucking lost. And shave."

TBC

4/8/03

Title: Fire, Chapter 5

Author: Simon

Pairing: Justin/Brian, natch

Rating: PG-13 language

Summary: A fire destroys the loft

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Yes

Feedback: Hell, yes. 

**Fire, Chapter 5**

Brian

The fucking red haze was back.

The one that was like a red fog that took over every part of his brain and blocked out everything except the pain.

The pain could get through and when it did it blocked out everything else.

Sometimes the nurses would come by and then he could drift and it was a white cloud—no it was a gentle wave and he was lying on a raft and floating and it was the best thing he'd ever felt, but then the red haze would come back and he would want to cry again.

Sometimes it seemed that someone would notice and make the white floating return, but sometimes they were busy or something and he would lie there lost in the fog and it was worse than—anything.

He just wanted it to all stop, to go away so that he could be the way he used to be. He wanted to be able to breathe without it feeling like his lungs were still burning and he wanted to be able to sit up and he wanted to—he wanted to be well again. He wanted the tubes and the machines to be gone and to just be able to sit in his own loft with no one to bother and mostly he want there to be no pain. He thought that he remembered a doctor or someone telling him that he would probably never be like he used to be.

And he wanted to cry again.

Justin. Fuck.

Yes, he would like to fuck Justin, but Justin was fiddling the Fiddler and that was where he wanted to be.

And there wouldn't be any fucking for him for a while anyway, if he were to believe the fucking doctors.

The condo—he had me go to stay there for a day or so but that didn't work out because he was still too hurt to not have doctors and nurses around him all the time and there had been something else. Oh, right. Ethan had hit him and broken his shoulder again.

Well, fuck me.

Then he was back in the hospital.

He vaguely wondered if Justin had finally had enough melodrama.

Maybe this would be what pushed him over the edge and caused him to transfer to—what the fuck was it? Brown? Yale? No, Dartmouth, that was it—he was supposed to go to Dartmouth. Then his father would be happy and even overlook the fact that he was queer and liked it up the ass.

Well, even Dartmouth probably had some kind of art school. They probably did.

Justin would be fine.

Maybe he could get a refund from PIFA if that happened. Well, OK, probably not. Whatever.

The fucking red was coming back.

Shit.

Ethan 

OK, I know it. You don't have to say it. I shouldn't have hit the fucker.

You really don't have to say it. I know. He's hurt and he was probably in pain—he sure looked like shit, that's for sure, but you have to understand.

I love Justin.

I think that I might love him, anyway.

He's smart and he can be funny and he hangs on everything I say and believes everything that I tell him. Well, he used to, anyway. Until yesterday.

He would listen to me practice and hang out in the park to keep me company when I was playing the streets—he would cook dinner and he was almost always cheerful.

I heard that his nickname is 'Sunshine'. It fucking fits him, you know? Damn—that smile. Have you ever seen anything like that?

And Justin in bed, you can't believe how good that part of things is—was.

Fanfuckingtastic.

We would go at it for hours and then he would curl into me and wrap his arms around me and kiss me—God I love sleeping with him.

I liked to look at us when we were in bed. Him all light and happy and gold—like my name, and me all dark and brooding. Yin and Yang. Perfect.

I don't want to lose him. I mean, I know that at some point I will probably have to go to London or someplace to work, but not yet. We could still have some time together. He could paint while I play and it would be good for a while yet. He could come visit me on the road and I could show him whatever city I was in at the time. It would be great.

Of course he still pretends that he's still fucking Kinney when we're in bed and I know that he looks for him when he's working at the diner and that the shit is always in the back of his mind.

You know how weird that is?

It's like having three people in the fucking bed—not that Kinney would mind that from what I hear.

Maybe that's where Justin learned it from—oh, he never really told me what they actually did together, but I can imagine.

Fuck.

How the shit do you compete with rich, smart, beautiful and the best lay in the state?

True love? Right, with who? Whom? With Kinney or me? Both? Neither.

When Justin cums with me he says the fucker's name. He doesn't know he does it and at first I though that it was a fluke, but it happens all the time—just a whisper, but I hear it.

True love.

Yeah, right. It don't pay the fucking bills.

Justin 

Shit.

I can't believe what fucking Ethan did. I can't fucking believe that he would do that—I can't believe that anyone would do that.

He hit Brian when he was hurt and in pain and couldn't even sit up. He hit him hard enough to rebreak his Goddamned shoulder and send him back to the hospital and into surgery.

You know, people don't realize how strong musicians are—all that hand and arm movement. You ever see a pianist's arms? They're like fucking weight lifters. So is Ethan.

Shit.

I heard the doctors talking. They said that his shoulder would probably be OK in a few months, well, OK enough. Maybe not as good as it was, but he'll be able to use it—it's his lungs that are the problem They said that they're probably permanently damaged and that he'll always have to be really careful because he's now more prone to infection and pneumonia and he'll never—fuck, he'll never be 100 again.

Oh, the good news?

The burns on his chest and his neck are healing well and they say he won't need the grafts or anything. I don't know all the medical reasons—they just said that they would be OK. Well, maybe not really OK, but in the scheme of things they're minor. He'll have some scaring, but nothing terrible and he should be able to cover most of it really easily with his clothes. The scars will even fade in time and you'll hardly notice them. Unless you look.

Brian will see them like they're lit up with neon, but they should heal without any surgery or anything, so that's really good.

They said he was lucky with that.

You want to know what were the real shits with that? They were standing talking in his fucking room like he wasn't even there and I looked at him and his eyes were open and he'd heard every fucking word.

You want to know what he did?

He just closed his eyes and pretended that he was asleep.

They turned around and tried to talk to him about it, but he just refused to receive anything that they had to say. He tuned them out and they were so stupid that they believed that he was still out.

Stupid fucks.

I don't give a shit if they're the best doctors around, they're stupid fucks.

Yeah, other than that, how was the play, Mrs. Lincoln?

Don't they fucking get it?

Brian is—was—an athlete. He might not have been really pumped like some of them are, but he's a runner and he played soccer and he can dance and fuck for hours without even breathing hard. Or he could.

Fuck.

Ethan came up to me in the hallways at PIFA this morning.

I told him to fuck off.

Debbie 

God, everything is just such a fucking mess.

Brian.

I can't even think about that poor asshole without wanting to cry.

He's just had so much shit thrown at him. I should know, I threw my share.

And you know what? He always came through it—his parents, accepting being gay, the shit he took at school for that. He worked his ass off and put himself through college, got that big fancy job and made a big success of himself and he still eats breakfast at the Goddamned diner with his friends every morning. He's wearing his fucking Armani suit and the others are in jeans, but he's there right with them.

And now he has this to deal with and I'm not sure, but this might be the straw that breaks him.

He has so fucking much on his back. He has Gus and the girls, his crazy mother and sister, Mikey is always after him—I know, I love the little shit to death, but he's a drain and if Brian didn't catch him at least once a month, he'd land on his ass. They all go to him when they have a problem and he always takes care of them, he gives them money and time or a ride or a plane ticket or a computer. Whatever they need, he gets it for them without a word.

Now he's lost so much that I'm not sure that he can fix it—his home, his health and now his love.

Right, that's what I said. Justin.

Brian loves the kid, he as much as said so to me one night. You can see it anyway, he didn't have to say a word, all you need are eyes in your head. We all knew but, probably before Brain did.

Well, maybe. He knows a lot of things that he keeps to himself.

Sure, Justin is there at the hospital and he's doing everything that he can to try to help, but Brian won't put up with that for much longer. You see, I know that asshole. He'll let Sunshine do for him only to a point and then he'll decide that Justin should move on—just like he decided that about Michael when he threw him off the cliff to David and when he threw Justin to Ethan.

I know Brian. I know how he thinks and how he works.

Pretty soon now he'll decide that he's a drag on Justin and he'll shove that little kid right out he fucking door.

He'll do it and he'll tell himself that he's doing it for Justin, just doing what's best for him.

You know what's strange? This time I might agree with him.

Justin is still only nineteen years old. Brian will never be what he was, if I'm hearing the doctor's right—not like they never make mistakes, but fuck, have you seen him lately?

He looks like shit and he's about to give up.

I see it and I never thought that I would in Brian. He never gives up. If he did he'd have caved in years ago.

Maybe he's right.

I don't think that Sunshine should be around for that.

Craig 

Yes, I heard.

I fucking heard, OK?

Kinney's place was destroyed in a fire and Justin is playing nurse.

When I heard that my son had moved out his apartment or whatever Kinney lived in I thought that it would finally be over between the boy and that pervert, but what the fuck do I know?

Jen tells me that he's always at the hospital and he even moved the fucker into Jen's place for a while before he had to go back for surgery.

Shit. Like I need this. My kid is obsessed with a thirty-year-old child molester and now he's trying to nurse him back to health.

Christ.

You know what I keep thinking?

How much simpler things would be if that fucker just died.

Justin 

Brian is shutting down. I can see it.

He's giving up and he's depressed and I'm so fucking scared.

I don't know what to do. They have the shrinks talking to him and the therapists and they even brought in some guy who had his lungs fucked over too and not one of them made a single dent.

I'm so Goddamned scared.

I know he wants me to leave. I know he's leading me to the Kinney Cliff again and I want to stay with him. I don't want to go, I want to hold his hand and take walks with him and help him get better. I want to sleep with him and wake up next to him and I want—him.

I don't want to jump off his Goddamned cliff.

I heard some of the shrinks talking and they said something about Brian being so depressed that they'll need to keep an eye on him.

Fuck.

Oh, you want to hear another good one?

Fucking Vance brought in some new guy to be a partner. Brian found out when the fucker stopped by for a visit—you know 'oh, by the way, Brian...you understand, of course. Nothing personal. Your office is still there for you. Well, I had to let Steven have the use of it, just temporarily, but I knew that you wouldn't mind.'

Talk about your fucking timing.

When the asshole left Brian just closed his eyes and wouldn't talk to anyone for the rest of the day.

Brian 

I think the thing with Vance is what really got me the most.

I mean, I know that I'm hurt and I know that it's going to be a long time getting better—as much as I'm ever going to get better. I know that.

I've accepted that everything material I owned was carted away in trucks to a dump. I know that I can't be a lover to Justin, or anyone for a long time if ever again.

I know that my family doesn't give enough of a shit about me to even call the Goddamned hospital to see how I'm doing. They'd be quick enough if it was time to read the Goddamned will.

OK, I know all of this. I've got it. It's as clear as the nose on my face as they say.

I've even started to accept the constant pain, like a toothache that's always there except it's my whole body—or enough of it, anyway.

My job, my fucking job. Somehow I was stupid enough to think that it would be there for me. I knew that they wouldn't stop for me, I knew that—but he even gave away my fucking office. He said that my 'things' were safely put away.

Christ.

My 'things' are in a box in some fucking closet and fuckall knows when they'll ever see daylight again.

Well, fuck.

Justin 

Tonight I went back to the hospital after working the dinner shift. It was about nine thirty when I got there and Brian was watching a Disney movie hat was playing on the in-house system that the hospital has. I think it was an old Hayley Mills thing, the Moonspinners.

Really a bad movie.

He wasn't really watching it, of course, it was just on and he was staring at nothing, depressed. I turned it off and he didn't care. I tried to talk to him, but something must have happened today or he must have thought of something new to be depressed about. Maybe he was just having a bad night. I don't know.

I couldn't think of anything to say after a while so I asked if he would like me to read to him. He looked at me like—whatever.

We've been assigned Moby Dick in English. Didn't know tat we had to take other classes than just art at PIFA, did you? Well, we do. We have to take a couple of English classes and history and there's a math requirement.

So I started reading him the book. It's pretty good, you know? And after a while, a chapter and a half, I think, he was asleep.

I probably shouldn't have done it, but I took my shoes off and got up on the bed next to him, on his good side. I put my arm around his waist and slept there. At some point a nurse or someone covered me up with a blanket and I spent the night there next to him.

In the morning I woke up when I felt his hand on my neck and cheek. I was against him and he had his arm around me. At first it was just like we were at the loft and I forgot for a minute where were really were. I thought that he'd be pissed or make a snarky remark, but he just smiled at me, said "Good morning, Sunshine" and kissed me on the forehead.

TBC

4/9/03

Title: Fire, chapter 6

Author: Simon

Pairing: Justin/Brian, natch

Rating: PG-13 language

Summary: A fire destroys the loft

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Yes

Feedback: Hell, yes. 

**Fire, Chapter 6**

**Justin**

So I had spent the night sleeping with Brian and when we woke up it was like it had been before, like it used to be—before Ethan and the fire and all the other shit that's gone down. He was relaxed and rested and he seemed to even be sort of happy that I was there.

We couldn't do anything about my morning boner, but he felt it against his leg and smiled at me, sort of like he was laughing and then he said "You ought to take care of that, Sunshine", so I went to the bathroom and jerked off.

I know, it sounds stupid, but it was like we shared this secret when the nurse came into the room with his breakfast and to check his meds and stuff.

It was the first time he's been in a good mood since the fire; well, at least as far as I can remember.

He was pleasant to the nurse, for a change and he actually ate his breakfast without complaining about it being shit.

He allowed the orderly give him a sponge bath and he was civil to the doctor.

Thinking that things were looking up, finally, I went to class, promising that I would be back later.

I thought that the night would be a lot like the one before. I could read to Brian since he had liked that and then maybe I could spend the night holding him.

It had seemed like we had turned some kind of a corner, or at least Brian had.

The depression seemed to be lifting.

I was really happy for him.

**Debbie**

I was afraid that something like this would happen. I should have suspected something when Sunshine came into the diner so happy this morning. He was just—glad. Like Pollyfuckinganna.

I should have known that Brian wouldn't have turned completely around so quick but, fuck, I'm stupid, OK?

OK, maybe I'm not stupid, but I was just so hoping that the asshole would get better and be happy and realize what he still has despite what the fuck he's lost...that I just didn't think.

I know. I should have.

So I went to the hospital after the breakfast crowd thinned out. I wanted to just say hello to him and take him some lemon squares, just so he'd know at I was still thinking about him.

I walked into his room and he seemed quiet.

OK, Brian can get like that and he sure as shit has reason, but this wasn't like his usual 'leave me alone you're pissing me off and you're dirt' attitude. This was different. This was quiet and—kind. It was like he had made a decision and now that something was settled he could just lay back and enjoy the ride. Like nothing mattered.

I should have fucking known better.

I know. I should have.

Maybe then it wouldn't have all hit the fan the way it did.

He wouldn't admit anything. He just was pleasant, the way he can be when he's decided not to be snarky to everyone, when he decides that there's nothing to hide so he can just be himself.

You have any idea how many times I've told him that if he'd let people see that side of him how fucking many friends he'd have? That person, that other Brian is a Hell of a sweetheart. You know what he says? Fuck 'em.

Yeah. Big surprise.

I wish that I'd known that would be the last time I'd see the son of a bitch for a while.

He knew, of course. He wouldn't say shit, but he knew. He'd signed the fucking papers by then.

I would have told him that I love him.

He knows that I do. He's known that for over fifteen years, but I would have liked to have the chance to tell him.

Justin 

I got back to the hospital about nine that night and went straight up to his room. I could have walked those halls blindfolded; I'd spent so much time in that place.

When I walked into his room I knew that he was gone. I mean it's not hard to figure out.

The bed was unmade, stripped, the meds and the IV stand were gone, and the flowers people had sent were missing. The room was empty.

OK. It happens.

I went down to the nurses station to ask where he'd been moved, figuring that he was just in another room for some reason.

They told me that he had been discharged that afternoon.

Discharged? Fuck that.

He'd only had major surgery a couple of days ago and now he was out? Fucking insurance companies.

I started on a rant and the nurse, Nancy, told me to tone it down and behave myself.

He had been released to another facility and he would continue his recovery there.

When the fuck was this decided?

The day he came out of the shoulder surgery, the second one that gave him the new joint. He had spoken to the doctor who had arranged everything. As soon as he could be safely transported, he was removed at his own request and with his doctor's approval.

Fuck me.

Where was he? That place in Irwin? The one in Braddock or Shadyside?

She was sorry, but she wasn't at liberty to release that information.

Why the fuck not? He was my lover, Damnit. I had a right to know where he was.

She said that she was sorry—in fact she looked like she was—but there was nothing more that she could tell me without Mr. Kinney's permission. It was the new privacy laws; there could be a lawsuit. I must understand.

Fuck. That was why Brian was so calm this morning. He knew that it was moving day and he'd be gone before he had to see any of us again.

I asked Nancy if he was OK. You know, was he really getting better?

She said that he was and that he'd be just fine in time.

As Molly would say 'liar, liar, pants on fire.'

...Fuck.

I need to find him.

Fucking Brian.

The asshole knows that I love him; in fact he knows that he loves me.

Fuck.

Brian 

I knew that it was the only way to deal with this.

I had to do it. If Justin wouldn't go off the cliff then I'd jump myself.

If I'd let him hang around the hospital as much as he obviously wanted to, then he'd never go.

He'd get into some martyr thing and then he'd start feeling responsible for me and I sure as fuck didn't want to go down that road.

I suspect that Jennifer might want to write me a thank you note about this one of these days.

As soon as the fiddler prick broke what was left of my shoulder and I finished with the second operation on the damn thing I knew that this was going to really suck...actually, I think I might have suspected that when I first clued in that I was on fire along with the rest of my loft and the chainsaw was so close that I could feel the breeze from the chain next to my chin. There's an adventure for you, boys and girls.

Anyway.

This is going to be months, maybe years before I'm even close to normal. Now don't laugh at that, I know, it's too fucking easy. What's normal?

I can't stand the thought of having Justin being dragged through this. I can't do that to him. He's still a kid and he has better things to do than hang around in a Goddamned hospital.

...You want to know something, though?

I really liked him reading to me.

When I woke up in the middle of the night and realized that he was curled into me and had fallen asleep beside me, I called the nurse to cover him with the extra blanket and told her to let him sleep.

I got to hold him all night, even after my arm had gone to sleep from his weight, I just kept it there and in the morning I kissed him like I used to do.

I would have liked to make love, but that wasn't in the cards and I thought that he wanted to blow me, but I knew that the nurse would be in and I could hear people walking around in the hall. I didn't care about that, of course, but I didn't want him to get thrown out.

It's better doing it this way.

I know that he wouldn't buy that, but it is.

This way there won't be any big scenes and there won't be any hysterics and he can just forget about there being anything between us.

He can remember that I was an asshole and that I walked out—wheeled out, and that will be fine.

He'll be pissed and find himself another fiddler.

I always loved Moby Dick.

Daphne 

I saw Justin this morning and he looks like shit. He told me what had happened, that Brian decided to be moved and he figured that it was because Bri didn't went him hanging around.

He is such a twat.

Like Brian would risk his recovery for Justin.

I know that Justin thinks that this is true love and all of that and I know that Brian loves Justin, but he wouldn't risk his health. He's too smart for that.

I think that Brian just needs a break from everyone so that he can concentrate on getting better.

I wish that I knew where he is, though.

That's almost creepy, knowing that he could choose to disappear like that.

Justin and Debbie think that he's in that convalescent home in Irwin that he was set to go to before.

I think that he'd go more for Shadyside and Michael thinks that he's somewhere we haven't thought of. He says that no one will find him unless he decides that he wants us to.

Justin told me last night at he's afraid that Brian will do something really drastic, he thinks that Bri is a drama queen and that he might choose to go out in a blaze of glory or something like that.

Oh, please.

Brian wouldn't do something like that.

I think he just wants to be left alone so that he can get better and sort things out.

I mean, he needs a new place to live and he's lost all his stuff and his boss is being a prick.

I told Justin—OK I shouldn't have said this but I was high—that I thought that he might just want to start over someplace else. Maybe he'll move to San Francisco or Chicago or New York or someplace.

Justin looked like he might cry when I said that.

I think that's what he might be afraid of.

Joan 

Well, if this isn't God's will, I don't know what is. I told Brian to change, to repent his sins, to ask Father Tom for forgiveness and go back to Mass and confession.

Get thee behind me, Satan. That's what I told him he should say when he's tempted by one of those—men.

He just gave me that superior smile of his and laughed and said some horrid thing.

I'll continue to pray for him, of course, but I'm beginning to despair.

I lost his father's soul years ago, but there might still be a chance with Brian.

I won't give up.

TBC

4/10/03

Title: Fire, chapter 7

Author: Simon

Pairing: Justin/Brian, natch

Rating: PG-13 language

Summary: A fire destroys the loft

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Yes

Feedback: Hell, yes. 

**Fire, Chapter 7**

**Brian**

OK, I know that this was probably a stupid place to come, but I figured that it would be the last place that any of the others would look for me. And yes, before you waste your time asking, it's Hell.

The fact is that I couldn't go all that far. I'm not quite up to major trips at this point and they all knew that I was booked into the place in Irwin—one of Pittsburgh's armpits, and that's no lie. They know that the doctor was looking into the other places that would have been the other obvious choices and I just need to get away for a while.

I know, believe it or not, that the others love me. I really do know that.

Oh, yeah, they piss and moan about things but I know that they're there for me if I need them, just like I'm there for them.

That's what friends are for, you know.

God, I'm getting trite.

I almost called Ben just so that one of them would know where to reach me in case there was an emergency, but I finally decided against it. You want to know who I told?

You'll shit. Really, you will.

I told Horvath.

Honest to Christ. If something happens, he's the one who'll let me know.

Think about it. It makes sense.

He's with Deb and she knows everything. If something happens to Justin or Gus or someone, she'll naturally tell him and he's agreed to tell me.

No one will know.

That's the way I want it for now.

I need to figure things out. I need some time to myself and I need to make some decisions. I have to be able to think without shit getting in the way.

Nancy, the nurse I had at Jen's is with me. She's staying in the other room and she's OK. I like this broad. She's tough and smart and funny and outweighs me by about fifty pounds. And she's a fucking good nurse.

Anyway, I need to think about where I'm going to live. I saw the new plans for the building and it sucks. They're going to turn it into a boring apartment with terraces and all cut up like little boxes—you ever hear that old Pete Seeger song about little boxes? "They're all made out of ticky-tack and they all look just the same"? Well, that's what's going in.

Time to move out, pardners. Jen can look for a place when I'm feeling better.

My job.

Well, there's another whole shitload of questions there.

I guess that I can go back when I'm up to it. I mean, Vance knows that to get rid of me without cause will cost him a fortune and he'd cut off his arm first. The question is, do I want to go back?

Well, yes and no.

I like my job and I'm good at it. I'm a partner and I make decent money. I've been there for a long time and I know the lay of the land and where the bodies are buried. I'm established there. I could stay there for another long time if I want. I could do that.

On the other hand, I could leave.

I could either start over at another place. Even after the accident I've been getting feelers from some of the other agency's wondering if I'd like to meet with them. You know, these are the big places, too, the ones Vance hates because they're the competition. The places in New York and Chicago and LA are calling, too.

Damn, at feels good. We all want t o be wanted, you know?

Or, the big other 'or', I could start my own place.

I thought that I would when I was around thirty-five, but that's not too far off and this seems like a good break point. I read a line in a book once about a character making a decision at a particular junction in his life and he says that "that wasn't the reason for my decision, it was just the occasion for it."

Makes sense, doesn't it? Maybe. I have to decide.

Justin.

God, what do I do about Justin?

I think that he wants to start over, but I don't know what the fuck to do about that.

I love him.

There I said it and if you ever repeat it I'll deny the crap out of it.

Of course I want him back, fucking A.

Yeah, there's the problem, now, isn't it? Fuck. It's not going to happen for a while. I talked to the doctor about it, the one who's the respiratory specialist. I asked him about physical exertion and he gave me an idiot answer. He told me that I could do whatever I felt that I was up to.

You know. I might not be up to the Boston Marathon, but maybe, if I take it easy I could try walking up the stairs if I take it easy.

Then he said that I should be patient.

How the fuck do you ask nineteen year old to take it easy? He could take cold showers, he could jerk off, he could trick. He could just leave. I can't ask him to make that kind of choice because I know what he'll do. He'll fucking say that he wants to be with me no matter what and that's just bullshit.

Cliff time.

**Justin**

He's gone; he's just fucking gone.

When I saw that his room had been cleaned out I asked what had happened and they just said that he'd been released with his doctor's permission.

Then they wouldn't tell me where he'd gone, saying something about the new federal privacy regs or some shit like that.

He's my fucking lover and I can't even find out what Goddamned state he's in, let alone what convalescent home or hospice or whatever he'd been put in to recover.

Fuck.

And then I asked everyone who I could think to ask, Michael, Deb, Cynthia, Linds...everyone. No one knew, or if they did, they sure as fuck weren't talking.

Goddamnit it to fucking Hell.

It's always fucking something.

Why the Hell can't we just cut through the shit and love each other? I mean, that's what we both want, right?

I know that's what I want and I'm pretty sure Brian does, too—not that he'd ever admit that or anything.

Fuck his parents and fuck the Church and anyone else who's screwed with his head so badly that he can't deal with any commitment more involved that deciding what to have for dinner.

OK, except for his job, that it. That's his Goddamned life.

You know, at first I didn't get why he works so hard. I thought that he'd made it and he could, well, maybe not kick back, but at least take it a little easy. Especially after he made partner.

But you know what? He worked twice as hard. He said something to me that stuck. We were arguing and he was going to work and I wanted to play so I said, "Fuck business". You know what he answered? "That's who you're fucking". That's how he defines himself, that's all he sees himself as. OK, he knew that he was the main stud and that was a big part of him, too, but since that's on hold he's just business.

And then Vance fucked that for him.

He'll regroup. I know him, he will.

I mean, that's who he is and what he is and now and forevermore, life everlasting.

If he can, that is.

Why can't he let me help? He said that once, too—sometimes a man has to know when to ask for help.

Fucking Brian.

Duck and cover.

Where the fuck is he?

**Joan**

I despair; I swear that there are times when I truly don't know how I can go on. I swear that I don't.

Well, it's my faith in the Lord that drives me along, just as it always has been. It's like I told Brian that time he came to sneer at me in church, I know that there is someone who I can always count on, who will always be there.

The Lord.

Brian.

If ever the Lord gave me a cross to bear, it's him.

That awful woman, Debbie Novatny called me to say that Brian was injured and needed my help.

Brian

I knew that he would be trouble right from the start when Jack demanded that I get rid of him. It wasn't even a baby yet, just a bunch of cells, just a lump. It wouldn't be anything, like going to the dentist to have a filling or something. He said that it wouldn't even have to be done in a hospital, that I could just go to a doctor's office. One minute you have it and the next you don't.

Well, I knew better than that.

I had heard the arguments and I had seen the pictures—I won't go into it here, it makes me shiver just to think about it.

I'd know that it would be a sin; I knew that I would be damned for eternity. I would be a murderer. Jack didn't care, but how could I not?

My soul burning forever. No, never.

Never be able to have the comfort of confession or communion. No. I just couldn't.

Truth be known, I didn't want another child any more than Jack did, but what choice did I have?

It was God's will.

So he was born and at first he was a joy, bright and happy.

That's how the devil works, though.

I should have known that there was something wrong with him when he decided to abandon the church when he was still so young. Satan had started crawling into his soul then and he wouldn't join me at mass or as an alter boy. He had looked so handsome up there in his robes, so tall and solemn.

Would you like to know what he told me years later? He had the nerve, the gall to accuse Father Glen of touching him and...Well, you know.

Well, I slapped his face when he said that. Slapped him damn hard and he didn't say anything about that again, you can count on it.

Then when I went to see him in that awful place he lives in and that boy came out of the bedroom and neither of them were fully clothed and covered in sweat—I wept for them when I got down to the street. I sat in my car and cried for both of their souls. That poor child, he looked like an angel and to know what Brian had made him do—I'm not a stupid woman, I know about these things—my own son.

I wept with fear for his lost soul and I wept for the things that poor child is forced to endure.

Well, I prayed for them both, but I just don't know. Father Tom promised me that he would pray for them, also, but I just don't know if it will help at this point.

That Novotny woman with her loud ways, I never could stand her. If she calls again I'll send her packing with a large flea in her ear.

Father Tom thinks that I should make an effort to contact Brian, go to the hospital, and do what I can for him. He told me that he had stopped by when he had some time a few days ago and that he thinks it would make Brian happy if I went.

Then he asked me if it would be possible for Brian to stay at the house while he recovers, that he would have a live in nurse to take care of things and that I wouldn't have to do all that much, just be there and talk to him and the like. Then I asked the Father if that boy, Brian's boy would come over, would he be there? When he told me that he likely would I knew that I couldn't. I just couldn't.

My son is a sodomite and a pedophile.

I know that we should forgive those who trespass and I need to look deeper in my heart for the strength to do that, but I just can't right now.

Father Tom said that the boy is of age, but I don't care about the details, the facts remain.

He is going to Hell. It is my cross to bear.

**Michael**

Fucking Justin, this is his fault.

Yeah, I know, he had nothing to do with the fire and he tried to help Brian when he was in the hospital, but fuck. Doesn't the idiot realize that the last thing Brian needs is to have his ex lover/boyfriend hanging around like a bad penny.

I mean, Justin the is one who walked out and hurt Brian and then showed up at the diner and everywhere with the fucking musician, rubbing his face in it.

Brian did everything he could for the little ingrate and then he got kicked in the teeth.

No wonder he decided to just get lost for a while.

He probably needs to just be left alone and I guess that I can understand that. Ben says that he needs to regroup without the baggage that we all dump on him. Talk about baggage, what about fucking Justin, why doesn't he just get a clue?

I mean, fuck—could the asshole have been more in his face if he had tried?

So now the upshot is that no one knows where Brian is or when he's going to come back or how he's doing.

I think we'd hear if there were any big problems, well bigger than we know about. You never know with Brian. He plays it pretty close to the chest when he wants to.

My best friend since forever and I don't even know where the fuck he is.

Fucking Justin.

You should see him moping around the diner. You'd have thought that he'd lost his best friend.

I lost my best friend; he lost an ex who he threw out and he's complaining that he's all alone.

Asshole got what he deserves.

**Lindsay**

From the night I first heard I knew that Brian would have trouble with this.

Alright, I know, that sounded stupid, but think about it. He's always been the strong one, the one who everyone comes to for help. He'd piss and moan and complain and then, with none too good grace, he'd give them whatever they needed—money or the use of his car or advice or even himself.

I know he's been there for me and Mel and Gus more times than I can count.

So now I can see how it's so hard for him to ask any of us for help or even let us see that he's needs us there for him.

Justin realizes that he wants Brian now. I think he always knew it; he just needed to step back and get some perspective while he was with Ethan.

Then when Bri was hurt so badly he understood what he might lose permanently.

Poor Justin. Bri won't make it easy for him, he'll keep him at arms length as long as he can, but this time Justin realizes that's what it is and that he has to wait him out.

He can. He's steel under that blonde look he's got going.

If anyone can wear Bri down, it's Justin.

I just wish that I knew where the Hell he is.

Last night Gus was crying because he wanted Daddy and we couldn't even get him on the phone.

I know that Bri needs this now, but we need him, too.

Damn him.

He'll get better, he has to. He's too tough not to.

I just am so scared for him.

**Brian**

So they moved me here today. It's quiet and I can sleep a lot and it's all set up on one floor, so that makes it easy. He doesn't bother me about talking to his boss—that was the agreement when he offered to let me stay here.

He knows how I feel about that shit at this point. The rest we'll make up as we go along.

He's not a bad guy, easy to be around. In fact I actually like him, in a way.

No, not that way, not anymore. Not now.

It should be alright. I just had to go somewhere where everyone would leave me the fuck alone. I need to think and I have some decisions to make and I need some time to get better—if I can.

Justin.

Fuck. I need to make a decision there. He thinks he wants us back together, but I—I just don't know. I want it, sure, but I couldn't take another one of his mood swings on this.

If we get back together it has to be a real thing. If that's what he wants, of course.

I think I do. If it's like it was before, not like it was at the end.

Yeah, well, you can't go home again, but maybe you can still live in the same neighborhood.

The job—need to figure that out, too. That should decide the home front, you know, where I live after this is over.

The landlord has agreed to keep the fact that I'm here to himself and has come up with some simple lies in case anyone asks. You know, just another soul in need.

Father Tom is OK.

I know that Joanie had some fantasies years ago, but who the fuck ever thought that I'd end up staying in a Goddamned rectory?

TBC

4/11/03

Title: Fire, chapter 8

Author: Simon

Pairing: Justin/Brian, natch

Rating: PG-13 language

Summary: A fire destroys the loft

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Yes

Feedback: Hell, yes. 

**Fire, Chapter 8**

Three months later

**Brian**

_To: Blondetwinkhot mail_

_From: BKPit pitmail_

_Tuesday. 2:07 PM_

_Dear Justin,_

_I know that you've been worried about me and I don't want you to be._

_That sound s ridiculous, I realize, but you must understand that I've gone away for a while because I needed to. You and the others were trying to help me, I know that, but I had to make some decisions and they had to be made by me alone, without the background noise of family and friends._

_I've needed to be by myself, or close to it, so that I could simply concentrate on healing and sorting things out. _

_I'm fine, I promise._

_I know that you have been frightened by my disappearance and though I'm not quite ready to out myself and come back, I am making the choices that I believe to be for the best._

_Physically, I'm improved. The new shoulder joint amazes me and I have regained almost 95 movement. I am still working on strength, but it's coming and it should be close to what it was if I keep at it._

_The burns are largely healed. In that I was lucky. The damage wasn't as extensive as originally thought and though there is scaring, it is bearable. I'm told that if I choose, at some point I could have some reconstructive work done, but I'll wait to decide that._

_Never thought that you'd hear that from me, did you?_

My lungs continue a slow recovery and I'm hopeful that they will improve more than they have. The doctors say that they have been permanently damaged, but that the bronchia were not as badly damaged as they were worried and could well improve with more time. I'm still doing extensive rehab for the various problems.

_The pain is almost gone now and I am accepting that there are now limits on what my body can do._

_That, as you must understand, as you know me well, was almost the greater pain, but it's one that I have no choice but to accept as I'm not one for suicide, much as Mikey would probably argue about that._

_Justin. Don't try to find me. When I am ready I will come back—I'll just walk into the diner and sit down and order some shit and laugh at the reactions._

_That day we will talk, if you'll willing._

_We have a lot to say to one another._

_At least I hope and believe that we do._

_Brian._

Justin 

Jesus, so I get this fucking e-mail out of fucking nowhere.

I'm going out of my Goddamned mind and scared shitless for three months and the fucker just drops me a line like "having a nice day, let's do lunch sometime."

Jesus.

He said that he's OK, that he's getting better.

Good, but fuck me. He disappeared for three Goddamned months.

He's still shit knows where. E-mail? Jesus.

I'm trying to decide how I feel about this, about him.

I still love him and I want him to come back and for us to be together, but if he's going to play his mindfuck games, I'd rather just skip the whole thing, thanks.

For three months I've looked at every tall, thin man with brown hair, fucking hoping that it would be him. For three months I've jumped every time the fucking phone rang or someone came to the door. Three months with no word, of checking the damn mail every day. Three months of not sleeping or finally falling asleep to nightmares.

Asshole.

Three Goddamned months.

Fuck. Him.

**Father Tom**

Brian has surprised me. I admit it.

He's still with me here at the rectory and it's been good. I didn't know if it would work, in fact I had serious doubts, but it has and I've come to respect him. We've become friends.

I mean true friends, the kind you sit around the kitchen table with, the kind you talk to and, yes, I admit it, trust.

He's a good man and he's made it easy for us to be here together with his nurse, Kathryn. I've kept my word about not letting anyone know that he's here. I told him that it was a payback for him not outing me after that thing at the baths, but the truth is that I've come to like the man

I knew that he's intelligent and successful in his career, that he's handsome and that he has his choice of companions. What I didn't know was that he's one of the more complicated and sensitive men I've encountered, and one of the most caring.

I don't say that lightly.

Yes, of course he hides behind a wall he's erected for himself for his own protection, but I see how deeply he feels things and how desperately he cares about the people he allows himself to love. The young man I've seen him with could, I believe, be the greatest joy to him, should they allow themselves to trust one another.

I pray that they can.

I grieve for him about the situation that exists with his family. One evening we spoke about it at some length and I think that it was cathartic for him. Although I know that some old friends have some idea about the reality of his abuse, I suspect that he had never told anyone the full story of his childhood and the tremendous damage and pain caused to him by his parents. I wished desperately that there were something I could do to ease some of his anguish concerning this.

I hope that I helped him at least a little by allowing him to talk openly without criticism or reprisal. He spoke of such abuse and with such agony that the force of it stunned me. He told me of the physical beatings, the injuries, the broken bones and the trips to the emergency ward. He recounted ruined holidays and nonexistent birthdays and he told me about the circumstances surrounding his own birth. He told me about a period of several months when neither parent would speak to him or in any way acknowledge him, refusing him even a place at the family table at meal times, when he was completely ignored without explanation. He still has no idea why it began or why one day they broke and accepted his presence gain.

That he can carry these scars inside of him and still yearn to love and be loved is proof to me that God is good and that there is hope that he might find the happiness he searches for.

As do we all.

I've tried to speak with his mother several times about her son, without letting her know that he was close by.

Whereas a few months ago she was talking as though she were proud of him, his looks and his success, her walking in on Brian and his friend have caused her to harden in her feelings toward him. Even when I mentioned his serious injuries, she informed me that it was God's will and His way of dealing with sin. When I suggested that might not be the ways of a merciful God, she refused any thoughts to the contrary.

I sometimes think that Brian would have been better off if he had been an orphan in fact instead of just in practice.

Brian 

I spoke to Vance on the phone today. I informed him that I wouldn't be returning from my medical leave. He asked me my plans, obviously concerned about competition. I told him that I hadn't finalized them yet, but that I would appreciate his seeing to the final paperwork terminating my partnership with his firm.

A satisfactory settlement was reached over the phone.

Cynthia will, of course, come with me.

Michael 

So when Justin came into the diner with that 'Brain Kinney fucked me' look on his face, I knew that he'd had word.

That asshole, Brian. Three Goddamned months with no word and then he sends the kid an e-mail?

Sure, Ben pointed out that thee was no easy way to trace that, he could have sent it from anywhere and that was probably the reason he'd done it, but fuck.

Friends since we're fourteen and he can't even send a fucking postcard?

So when Ben asked Justin if he had answered Brian's message, he just got a blank look.

Excuse me? The fucker is hurt and then disappears for three months, this is our first contact and he doesn't return it?

And they think I'm the dumb one?

Jennifer 

I had hoped that this would be the end of it, that Brian would finally be out of Justin's life.

I had felt terrible when I'd heard what had happened, of course. How could I not? He had been so good to Justin after problem at the prom and had done so much to help him get better.

I mean, he was so terribly hurt and he's lost so much, but then I saw how Justin was reacting. Would you like to know what occurred to me as I saw him sitting outside Brian's room? He had the same haunted look on his face that Brian had the night Justin was hurt.

It was the same look, shock, fear, guilt and terror that the news from the operating room would be even worse than it finally was.

I suppose that's when I knew that Brian would never really be out of Justin's life.

I had hoped, when he told me about Ethan and introduced us that it would work out between the two of them. Alright, maybe not forever, this was a college romance after all, but I couldn't help but think how much more appropriate Ethan was than Brian. The two boys were the same age, they had the arts in common, they were both at similar stages in their careers and they seemed so happy when I saw them.

Then when I saw Justin at the hospital, well, I just knew.

Justin was so determined to have Brian stay here for his recovery. I had to agree to that, for Justin's sake. As horrible as what Ethan did to that poor man was, I was glad it would mean that he wouldn't be in my home any longer.

I can just imagine what Craig would have said if he had known about that.

Then when Brian disappeared, I thought that in a way I would lose Justin all over again. I've never seen him so distraught, not even when he was dealing with the aftereffects of the bashing, not even when the fighting between him and his father was at it's worst.

He did everything he could think of to find Brian, he even called Brian's mother and sister, but if they knew anything, they wouldn't admit it. None of his friends on Liberty Avenue had any ideas, Lindsay and Melanie didn't know where to contact him. No one knew.

Three months of nightmares and anger and self-recriminations. Damn Brian for that. He might have needed to go away to recover in private, but he didn't give a thought as to what he had left behind.

This afternoon when he called me to ask if he might come over to speak with Justin I almost told him to go away and leave us alone. I almost did.

Then I realized that Justin would never forgive that. He would find out somehow and then he would become impossible like he was before Brian pulled him back the last time.

I think I know what Brian wants to say to Justin, what he wants to talk about and I just wish that he wouldn't.

If he asks Justin to go away with him or to live with him again, I know that he will go.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe Brian is coming by to apologize to Justin for hurting him again, maybe he's just coming by to say goodbye.

But I know that's not the case.

I wish that I could hate him, but the truth is that I don't. He's not a bad man; he's a terribly damaged one. I just wish that Justin had never met him and I wish that he wasn't coming to my house to see my son tonight.

Justin 

_To: BKPit pitmail_

_From: Blondetwink hot mail_

_Tuesday 10:12 PM_

_Dear Brian,_

_I couldn't fucking believe that you actually got in touch with me after three Goddamned months, but, OK— I'm really happy that you did._

_I know that sounds like a twat thing to say, but I am glad that you're alright._

_Yeah, when you're ready contact me._

_And, yes, we should talk. I know that you've been dealing with a lot of shit, but I've been doing the same thing and a lot of crap has gone down since you disappeared._

_Justin_

**Two weeks later**

Jesus, I couldn't fucking believe it when I walked into Mom's condo after my late shift at the diner and he was just sitting there in the kitchen drinking a cup of fucking Constant Comment tea with my mother.

I hate that shit. It tastes like you're drinking dead flowers or something.

It was just so fucking Brian. Cool as ice, he just looked up at me in the doorway and said, as casually as you please, "Want a cup?"

I think that I shook my head no and Mom saw what was going on between us so she got up, put her mug in the sink and made some excuse about being tired. As she left she turned back to Brian and made some lameass remark about how happy she was that he's feeling better before she went up to her room so we could talk alone.

Jesus, Brian. You always have to make a fucking entrance.

You want to know what hit me first?

He looks good.

I know, Brian always looks good, but I somehow expected him to look less—well, less healthy, I guess. Yeah, I could see the scaring under his chin and on the left side of his neck from the burns, but they weren't horrible.

He's thinner than usual, and he's pale, like he hasn't gotten out much lately, but he was just sitting there in jeans and a black long sleeved tee—designer, of course, a new black leather jacket hung over an empty chair. His hair was a little longer.

He just looked like Brian. Somehow I guess that I expected some major change, but he just looked like himself. He had his shell bracelet on his right wrist, just like always.

So, I sat down, but I didn't offer to kiss him or anything and neither did he. We didn't even touch.

It was strange. I think I'd pictured our first meeting after he got back as one of those slow motion jobs where the two of us would run towards each other in a flower filled meadow, rush to one another's arms, twirl and kiss ecstatically while the music swelled.

Yeah, right. Like that ever really happens.

So we were just sitting there like neither of us knew what to say when I think I asked, "So are you alright now?"

"Pretty much. My lungs are still fucked, but they're getting better—I can't smoke anymore. No dope, even—but I'm OK." He sort of shrugged. He felt as awkward as I did. "Your mother told me that you and the fiddler are no longer an item. That true?"

His voice sounded better, almost normal. Good. His breathing sounded better, too. Not all the way, but a lot better than the agonized wheezing in the hospital.

"Yeah." I didn't tell him that I'd threatened to have the shit head arrested if he set foot near Brian again and that I'd see to it that he'd have the fucking book thrown at him for assault after what he'd done. In fact I didn't think that anything would really happen to him. After Hobbs walked away with just a slap on the wrist I knew that the law didn't apply when it comes to gay bashing, and if a gay bashes another gay—well, no one would have given a crap. Ethan didn't know that, though. He split.

Brian was looking at his teacup. "Look, it's like this. I've done a lot of thinking since the fire and I want to make some changes in my life. I have to." He was quiet and serious, like the time he apologized for ruining the rage artwork, like he was scared of my reaction.

"I'm not going back to Vanguard. I told Vance a couple of weeks ago and he's bought me out." He looked over at me. "I want to work, though, at least as much as I can at this point. I'll be bored if I don't." I nodded, yes, he would be. "I've had offers from other firms and I'm close to making a decision, but before I do, I want us to get clear."

Shit, here it was. Let's cut to the chase.

"Are you saying that you want to get back together?"

He looked at me with those eyes that always looked right the fuck through me. "Yeah, I do." He hesitated. Jesus, this had to be hard for him. "But I don't want to just try it on for size and have you walk out again the next time some trick makes your dick get hard or someone blows some romantic smoke up your ass. If we do this, it has to be solid."

"Brian, are you asking me to marry you?"

"Fuck, no." He caught my reaction. "Well, not yet, anyway." He poured himself another cup of that shitty tea to cover a quick Kinney smirk. "I want to..." He stopped.

"What is it you want, Brian?"

He looked around the room as though he'd find the answers on the walls or the ceiling. "I want us to be together without the bullshit, but there are problems and I don't know if you would be willing to deal with them."

Fuck. This was like pulling teeth. "What kind of problems?"

"Some of the job offers I'm considering are in New York or LA. It would mean relocating if I took one of them."

"What about Gus? Are you just abandoning him?"

"Of course not. He'll come to visit and I'll be back here. There are phones and e-mails and all sorts of shit. I'll be there for him."

"Alright. I might be willing to do that, to move. Is there anything else?" Of course there fucking was. Spit it out, Bri.

"My lungs are still fucked up. It's—well, there wouldn't be as much sex and I can't promise you that would ever improve." Shit Brian was sex. This had to be killing him.

"Are you impotent?" Words that I never in my Goddamned life thought would be ever spoken to Brian Kinney, let alone by me.

"No. It still goes up just fine. The problem is that if I breathe hard I—well, I just can't breath hard or it causes problems."

"Bri, are you saying no sex or no marathons?"

"I'm saying that I'm a fucking invalid and you'll get fed up with just blow jobs or fucking once in a while and then I fall asleep."

"Is this the final diagnosis or will you improve?" God, he looked like he wanted to bolt out the door.

"There should be improvement, but it will be slow—maybe a couple of years before I'm at even 85 of where I was. That's the best case scenario." His eyes were fixed on a spot on the table in front of him, almost resigned. "Sure, there can be sex, if we take it easy at first, or if you top and I pretend I'm dead."

Asshole.

"You almost get killed, I practically move into the damn hospital so that I can keep an eye on you, you disappear for three fucking months so that I'm out of my mind with worry and fear for you and now you have the balls to say that I'll throw you over because you may not be able to fuck for five hours straight for a while? What an asshole."

"Justin..."

"No. You are a fucking asshole. Don't you frigging get it? I love you. I've loved you since that first night. We have a history now, we've been through the fucking wringer and I still get hard when I think about you."

Damnit.

"Are you done?"

"For now."

"OK, this is what I see happening. I'll take the job in New York. The air is marginally better than LA. I've been offered a partnership at BBD&O, that's one of the biggest agencies on the east coast. That's good and bad. It's prestigious, which is good, but there's a lot of competition both in and outside the company and expectations for performance are high. If I can pull this off, I can start my own place in a couple of years." He paused a moment. "I thought that you could transfer to Parsons or FIT or one of the universities, Columbia or NYU." He stopped dead. "I mean, if you want to."

"You're up to that kind of high pressure job right now?"

"They know about my health and they're hot enough to get me that they're making allowances. Surprised the shit out of me, but I got it in writing. The number of accounts I handle are to be determined and set at a mutually agreeable level."

I think that I just nodded at him. The real Brian was back and he had worked it out. There was just one thing I wanted to know—well, OK, two things, maybe three.

"If I do this, uproot and transfer, are you going to do your controlling shit? I mean it. I'm not going to put up with you telling me what to do. That pissed me off when I'd want to stay home and you'd make me go to Babylon or Woody's or someplace."

"I never made you go fucking anywhere. You could have just told me to fuck off."

"And if I had you would have gone anyway."

"Right. We're not tied at the fucking hip. It'll be the same as it was here. There are no locks on the door."

"Great, so you want solid, but you want to fuck anyone you want? Screw you, Brian." I got up to leave. Fucking Brian.

"Sit down, you twat and listen to what I just said. I just told you that I want us back together and that I'm barely going to be fucking you, so cut the crap and stop acting like a Goddamned housewife."

"So we'll be together? I mean really together?"

"Fucking yes."

I didn't sit again, I leaned against the counter. "OK. If it works out, I mean, if we make it work and we're happy, I'd like to have a ceremony." I saw the look on his face. This was thin ice. "I mean it. I don't mean right away or anything, but if, after a while we both know that it's working, I want to go up to Vermont and get married. It doesn't have to be a big wedding or cost a lot or anything, but I want that."

I thought that he was going to just leave and he had that look on his face that means he's about to rip me a new one, but he didn't. All he said was a quiet, "Alright." That was all he said, just that one word.

You know how they say that sometimes it's so quiet that you can hear a pin drop? It was. Finally Brian asked, "Is there anything else?"

"Yeah, just one more thing. Could you maybe tell me sometime that you love me?"

He stood up, walked over to where I was standing and gave me one of those kisses that go into the record books—not sloppy or any of that, just ridiculously romantic.

"I just did, asshole."

That's when I started laughing. He had.

The End

4/12/03

148


End file.
